Richard straightened the vellum and continued reading.
However, not a month later, after a second set of charges was leveled at him, William de la Pole, duke of Suffolk, was banished from our shores for a period of five years.
The listeners gasped, and Richard himself looked up, grim-faced. “Aye, it seems our king has been nurturing a traitor.” He looked down again at the letter in his hands.
Our sovereign lady, Queen Margaret, spoke bravely on his behalf to her lord, it was told to me, but this time the king could not gainsay Parliament. In truth, it was Suffolk’s agreeing privately to the marriage terms to cede Maine and Anjou that most angered the Commons. It did not help Suffolk’s cause that no heir has been forthcoming from the royal union, and people are grumbling that England has gained nothing from this marriage and yet lost much.
Richard paused again, and Cecily knew he was thinking of the last time he had gone before Parliament and tried to point out the mismanagement of the country and his ideas for reform. The king had been unnerved by the support York was gaining both in the council and in the country, although he could not find fault with the duke for his loyalty and duty to his royal person. Giving Somerset the governorship of Normandy and money to go with it had been the last straw for Richard, and he had spoken his mind. A mistake, Richard, Cecily thought, watching him now. You were your own worst enemy that day. If you had held your peace, you might yet be home in England and acknowledged as heir presumptive. Ah, Cis, should you criticize him when you have always nudged him to assert himself? Be fair.
She cleared her throat, reminding Richard that his audience was waiting. He looked back at the letter, glanced at the second page, and quickly declared, “’Tis all you need to know.” He had decided not to share the rest with anyone but Cecily, which he did later that evening.
Richard Neville wrote:
But what of the loss of Normandy? Far dearer to England than Maine and Anjou, you might agree. I fear it may astonish you to know that his grace of Somerset has returned and appears still to retain the favor of the king and, more nearly, of the queen. It makes little sense, but we are only minions doing the royal bidding. Surely the fall of English France will be blamed on Lancaster for ever, God help us.
“But not on York,” Cecily interrupted. “York is not to blame.”
Richard looked up, as if he were taking in what she had said, but he was remembering the last time he had been at court. “Perhaps ’tis as well we came to Ireland when we did, my lady. No one can say I have shirked my duty or not served my king.” He paused and frowned. “Who is now counseling him, I wonder? I like not that Salisbury views himself a minion when he is one of the older members of the council.”
Cecily bit her lip. She never liked hearing criticism of her family, especially not of her eldest brother, but she had noticed he could be milk-and-water sometimes, so she said nothing. She had Meg on her lap engaging Bessie in a game of checkers, and she was delighted to see the younger girl outwit her sister in a move. She kissed the top of the golden head and murmured, “Well played, Meggie.” It was as well, she thought, that Elizabeth had a sweet, placid nature, for she would never match the boys or her younger sister in spirit or intelligence.
“Read on, Richard, I beg of you,” she said, motioning to Bessie over Meg’s head a move whereby the girl could get revenge.
Richard complied:
In other news, you must know that our dearly beloved son Richard came into his father-in-law Warwick’s title a few months ago through his Beauchamp wife, and having attained his majority is entitled to several estates through her. However, this has put our son in direct competition with our cousin Somerset, married to another Beauchamp daughter, and Somerset claims the land is his. I know not what will come of the conflict, but young Richard is not one to lie down and give up. If you meet him now, you will understand. Tell my sister that he has inherited more of her temperament than mine. Let me assure you that if you are on the same side as the new earl of Warwick, you will have a loyal and brave ally. But woe betide you if you are not.
My dear York, it might cheer you to know that your good name is heard often in Parliament and among many of us on the council.
Richard looked up, and a look of mutual gratification passed between husband and wife. Thank God, Cecily thought. A small step on the path to fulfill his goals. She smiled at him. “Go on.”
There is lawlessness rife in the country at this time, and Suffolk’s downfall has left a void in leadership that cries for a strong reformer. It is a concern that Somerset, as possible heir presumptive, may attempt to fill the void.
Alice joins me in sending good wishes to you and your family. Your ever faithful, et cetera.
Richard slowly sharpened the edges of the folded pages with his finger and thumb and his brow creased. “Somerset again,” he muttered. “It seems the man knows no bounds. How can he be considered heir presumptive when he is of bastard stock?”
Cecily could sense Richard’s anger rising and stepped in. “Let us not dwell on Edmund tonight, my dear. Let us rejoice in the news that you are not forgotten in London. Besides, it would seem Cousin Edmund has met his match in young Warwick. Come and help Bessie defeat Margaret and me. She is sorely in need of help,” Cecily urged, beckoning him. “I am more curious to know why the king and queen have failed to give England an heir, although that is not for me to ponder, knowing how long it took us.”
Diverted, Richard winked at her as he took Bessie on his knee. “And now it would seem we know not how to stop!”
SUMMER FINALLY CAME to Dublin, and Cecily insisted that the children be out in the fresh air and sunshine as much as possible.
“All of you look as though you have spent the last few months shut up in a dungeon,” she remarked to the four eager faces in front of her. Then she addressed the two little girls: “Hats with brims for you two. Ladies must always guard against getting brown complexions. It makes one look like a peasant.”
“What about the boys? Why can they be brown?” Margaret asked. “I hate hats!”
Bessie dug her elbow into her sister’s side. She recognized the lift of her mother’s chin and narrowing eyes. It meant a reprimand, and she loathed hearing the sharp tone and biting words her mother was capable of uttering. Elizabeth hated conflict of any kind and she avoided doing anything to incite it if at all possible. Her favorite words from either of her parents were “Good girl, Bessie,” and she would bask in such praise for hours. She could not fathom why Meg relished an argument—especially with Edmund—and did not seem to be able to anticipate her mother’s ire, when it was perfectly obvious to Bessie that it was about to erupt, as it did now. She cringed.
“Margaret! How many times must I tell you not to question your elders? You do as you are told and that is all there is to it. Do you understand?”
Meg hung her head. “Aye, Mother,” she muttered, and then was surprised to hear her father’s stifled laugh behind her. No one other than Cecily had seen him enter the solar, and he had put his fingers to his lips to warn her not to spoil the surprise. He had been gone for several days to Drogheda, where Parliament was sitting, and Cecily had not expected him home so soon. But he could not forbear to laugh when he heard Cecily’s reprimand and so had revealed himself to his children, who threw themselves at him, clamoring for attention.
Cecily clucked her tongue. “Sweet Jesu, but you do spoil them, Richard,” she complained, but her mouth softened as she watched. Her heart had leaped when he had come in, as it always did on her seeing him after a parting. “Margaret is altogether too bold and needs no encouragement.”
When the children had run off to play in the castle garden with their nursemaids, Cecily demanded to know why Richard had been laughing. “Someone must discipline them if you will not, my lord,” she said, indignant.
Richard drew her into his arms and rocked her from side to side. “I adore you when you are stern. Your back straightens, your chin lifts, and you look at those little
faces as though they were billmen in your front line. ’Tis then you more than deserve to be called Proud Cis, and it is then I wish your mother could see you.” He held her from him and took her chin in his fingers, noting the persistent mulishness in her face. “I was laughing because I was remembering another little girl who used to speak so boldly to her mother. Why do you think I love Meggie so much?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Aye, because she reminds me of you.”
Cecily’s resolve to stand her ground dissolved into a sheepish smile, and without losing a beat, she pulled his head to her and kissed him, as through the window from the sunny garden below floated the happy sounds of childish laughter.
LATER, AFTER THEY had supped in private for a change, and Gresilde, Constance, and Richard’s ushers of the chamber had excused themselves, Richard led Cecily to the inviting cushions he had placed on the floor of the tiled bedchamber and handed her a cup of her favorite hippocras. For the first time since the previous September, the wood laid in the grate remained unlit, and Cecily’s cambric chemise was all she needed for warmth in the balmy night air. She stretched out her long legs on the cushions and sighed with pleasure as Richard set to massaging her feet. It seemed to her that they had not stopped holding court since their arrival in Dublin, and although she enjoyed her role of first lady of Ireland, and felt born to it, she longed for restful moments like this.
Richard broke in on her thoughts. “I have a story to tell you, Cis. ’Tis as strange as any you might read in a romance, and I heard it upon my return this afternoon. It concerns my lord of Suffolk.”
Cecily lifted her head to look at him. “Do not say he has been forgiven, Richard.”
Her husband shook his head. “If you remember, the punishment was exile for five years. He was supposed to leave England on the first of May, and indeed for more than a month following his release from custody he busied himself with his affairs in Suffolk. On the last day of April he reached Ipswich, where he gathered a crowd and swore on the sacrament that he was innocent of any wrongdoing. The very next day, he set sail with his followers in two ships and a pinnace.”
“Where was he going?” Cecily demanded. “To his friend King Charles?”
Richard chuckled. “Patience, ma belle. Do you want the story or not?” Seeing her nod vigorously, he went on. “It appears he was making for Calais, but unsure of his welcome there, he sent the pinnace to test the waters. Before it could make land, some pirates came from nowhere and intercepted it. They demanded the sailors take them back to the flotilla.” He frowned. “Odd that the pirate ship was named Nicholas of the Tower, which is a royal ship, and odd it seemed to know that the pinnace belonged to the duke of Suffolk’s little flotilla. No mind, for in the end the duke of Suffolk ended up on the Nicholas.”
Cecily’s eyes were as big as rose nobles. She sat up, her arms hugging her knees. “So you do not believe they were pirates, do you? It does seem to me they were lying in wait. Sweet Jesu!”
“It was the cry that greeted him when he went aboard that makes me think not, Cis. ‘Welcome!’ they shouted. ‘Welcome, traitor!’ Now tell me this. What pirate would care about treason? All are robbers and cutthroats. And their behavior following those cries was even more curious. First they gave him a mock trial and then for a day and a night they allowed the duke to pray and make his confession to almighty God before they put him in a small boat—”
“And cast him alone out to sea? Why, ’tis monstrous!” Cecily cried, but then added, “Albeit well deserved.”
“Do stop interrupting me,” Richard complained. “They did not cast him out to sea alone but with a murderous little Irishman—who has since returned here and told his story to anyone who would listen at the tavern last night, which included Piers Taggett.” He clucked his tongue in disbelief. “I almost cannot think it true.”
“What isn’t true? The story, Richard, what was the rest of the story?” Cecily urged.
“The man said it took him several strokes of a rusty sword to cut off the duke’s head before he rowed back to his ship. From there the pirates sailed for England and supposedly threw the headless body into the shallow water near Dover. I wonder if it has been found.”
Cecily grimaced in disgust. “I wonder what they did with the head. Oh, Richard, what a terrible tale. I know Suffolk made your life difficult, but surely he did not need to die so cruelly. Banishment was hard enough.”
“You are too kind,” Richard said. “I can never forgive him for withholding the support I needed to keep Normandy or for surrendering Maine and Anjou, and certainly not for disposing of my presence by sending me here. Aye, he may not have been an evil man, but I confess I am not unhappy with the outcome, especially if it brings me closer to the king,” Richard stated. “However, it pains me more to think that one of Henry’s trusted councillors may have designed this hideous act.” He shook his head. “One day an all-powerful favorite, the next a headless corpse covered in seaweed. It makes one think.”
Cecily suddenly had a vision of her husband’s body without a head and she shivered. Thinking she was cold, Richard slid next to her and wrapped her in his arms.
“TO THE RIGHT noble Richard, earl of Salisbury, we greet you well,” Richard dictated to his clerk a few days later. “I must report that the Irish enemy, MacGeoghegan, with three or four Irish captains and associated with a great fellowship of English rebels, burned down my town of Rathmore as well as villages round about and are now assembling in woods and forts, waiting to do hurt and grievance to the king’s subjects. For the which cause I write at this time unto the king’s highness and beseech his good grace for to hasten my payment for this land, according to his letters of warrant . . .” He paused. “. . . To the intent I may wage men in sufficient number, for to resist the malice of same enemies and punish them for such wise . . .” Richard paused again, frowning. Then he slammed his fist on the table. “For doubtless, if my payment be not had in all haste, for to have men of war in defense and safeguard of this land, my power cannot stretch to keep it in the king’s obedience.”
He swiveled around to address his councillor. “Too strong, Sir William? Nay? Then, Master Oram, write on.
“And very necessity will compel me to come into England to live there, upon my poor livelihood, for I had rather be dead than any inconvenience should fall there until my default; for it shall never—underscore ‘never,’ good clerk—be said, nor remain written anywhere, by the grace of God, that Ireland was lost by my negligence.”
He stood looking over John Oram’s shoulder, reading what was written in the scribe’s meticulous hand, while Sir William hid a satisfied smile. Richard took the proffered quill and scrawled his signature under the date: at Dublin, this fifteenth day of June in the twenty-ninth year of the reign of King Henry.
The bright red wax dripped like hot blood on the parchment. Richard reached for one of his seals and pressed it firmly into the liquid. Sir William noticed at once that the duke had chosen the house of York’s white rose cognizance over his personal falcon and fetterlock, and arched a quizzical brow. Richard looked at him, then down at the seal, and gave a sharp laugh.
“I know what you are thinking, Sir William. You are thinking that I am throwing down the gauntlet by brazenly using the white rose.” He shook his finger at Sir William playfully. “Look again, my dear Oldhall. All I see is a red rose!”
Cecily walked in to hear the last remark. She waited for Sir William to bow as the clerk scurried out with the letter. “Good day, Sir William. What is this about a red rose?”
Richard smiled as he took her hand and kissed it. “I think Sir William is worried I have gone too far in my letter to Salisbury and the council. What say you, Oldhall?”
Sir William took a deep breath and spoke his mind. “Your grace,” he addressed Cecily, “your husband misjudges me. If I may speak my mind plainly, I must confess I am delighted by the strength of his conviction. I have watched Lord Richard stay silent through many months of frustration. He has every righ
t to be angry, and a lesser man would have reached this point years before now, in my humble opinion.” He paused, wondering if he had stepped over the line, but seeing rapt attention on both faces, he soldiered on, now addressing Richard. “I believe the time may have come for you to claim what is yours by right, your grace.” Cecily gasped. “No one can question your undying loyalty to King Henry, but it is time you took your place as the premier noble in the kingdom.” The old councillor had heard it on good authority that the lawlessness and discontent in England was blamed squarely on the ineffectual man on the throne, and he knew many would welcome York as the leading councillor, should Richard be angered sufficiently to return to court. “The country needs you, your grace,” Oldhall said to Richard. “It is time to go home.”
His piece spoken, he bowed and limped from the room, leaving Richard and Cecily speechless.
“GOING HOME SO soon?” Cecily exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, shooting out from under the bedcovers and her husband’s embrace. She thumped on his chest in exasperation. “But Richard, we have only just arrived. The children are about settled in and we were supposed to stay here for ten years. Have you been recalled to London?”
Richard sat up next to her and reached for his shirt. “Forgive me if you are taken by surprise, Cis, but Oldhall was right. I have reached the limit of my patience with the king. You knew I received a visit from William Tyndale this day, did you not?”
“Lancaster King-at-Arms? Aye, I heard.” She had seen the herald arrive a little after noon with his small retinue of men-at-arms in the king’s livery.
“Henry sent him to assure me that he has not forgotten me,” Richard said silkily. “Lancaster spoke long and eloquently of the king’s high favor and praise for my loyal service.”
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