Queen By Right

by Anne Easter Smith

  Cecily closed her eyes tightly, looked down at her lap, and prayed for Henry’s recovery.

  “Come with me on the morrow to the council in London, Richard,” the earl said, retrieving a stringy piece of meat from between two teeth. “They would know if you are willing to take the reins, should the vote go your way. You do not want them to believe you have no interest.”

  CECILY WATCHED AS Richard was dressed for the two-day ride to London by two of his gentlemen. The weather had been fine for a week, and the harvest was successfully reaped, the hooded stooks neatly arrayed in rows in the fields to allow the late summer sun to ripen any green grain fully. Soon the harvest helpers would return to their villages, their work done for the season. Later, as summer turned to autumn, the wheat for the castle would be stored in the barns for threshing.

  Richard had chosen to wear a plain knee-length, black damask cloak-tunic, albeit trimmed with gold braiding, to mark the serious nature of his meeting with the council. “I wish them to know I am mourning the loss of our sovereign’s sanity, Cis.”

  Cecily affixed one of her brooches to the front of his hat.

  “For a safe journey, my lord,” she told him, standing back to admire him. She nodded to Richard’s gentlemen in approval. “I thank you, sirs.” They bowed, leaving the duke and duchess alone.

  Richard cocked his head at his wife now, knowing well that she had had a reason for dismissing his servants.

  “How now, Cis. Will you chastise me for not coming to you last night? I know I broke with our tradition, but a week in London does not constitute a true parting.”

  Cecily shook her head. “I lay awake for a time, ’tis true, but it was not to find ways to make you feel guilty. In truth, I could not get the image of Henry’s inert state out of my mind. And I began to think back on those times when I was in his presence and how at each one I noticed little instances of odd behavior. Do you remember in Rouen when he suddenly loosed laughter that frightened both of us?” Richard nodded slowly, recalling the incident well. “We remarked upon it afterward, remember? And then I cast my mind back to one of the first occasions I saw him. ’Twas at the banquet after your knighting at Leicester. I saw him stop midway between taking a mouthful—like this—and stare unblinking at nothing in particular. I swear he disappeared into a place that was not in this world. It lasted for all but a moment, but it was curious, nonetheless.”

  Richard stroked his beard, thinking. “Do you know that Queen Catherine’s father went mad? King Charles never recovered, so I heard. They say such a thing may run in a family.”

  He picked up his silver-hilted dagger and placed it in its sheath, then turned to embrace her. “Come, kiss me, Cecily. If I stay in London longer, I will send for you.”

  BUT HE WAS gone only a few days.

  The lookout on the gatehouse tower alerted the castle to the duke’s return, and grooms and pages appeared from nowhere and ran to greet the returning riders. Waving happily, Cecily made her way through the private entrance in the inner ward to greet her husband in the courtyard. Richard kissed her hand briefly before taking her arm in his and leading her up the staircase to their solar. He had barely said two words, but from the grim set of his mouth, Cecily knew something was amiss.

  “Somerset attempted to sway the council to deny my attendance, and when I saw that I must flatter and cajole my way into the meeting, I refused to demean myself,” he told her, pacing up and down the room, his strong chin leading him and his spurs jangling on the tiled floor. “Have I not been humiliated enough? I left immediately.”

  Cecily was aghast. “I cannot believe the council would exclude you, Richard. You are the highest ranking duke in the realm. My brother said they must include you in their plans to govern while Henry is indisposed. Has Somerset so much influence? ’Tis hard to believe.”

  Richard turned, clearly exasperated. “He still has the king’s protection, Cis. And he is Margaret’s favorite. The council dare not defy him. God’s bones, but I thought I had your brother and his whelp Warwick on my side. Together with Norfolk, they should have had enough influence to sway the others and warrant my being accepted, but they wavered.”

  Cecily was at a loss. She could not defend her brother, and she would have liked to give him a piece of her mind. She watched her husband slump onto a stool and attempt to remove his spurs and boots. She went to his side and knelt down to help him, and then she came to a decision.

  “I shall write to the queen,” she declared. “And, nay, do not gainsay me this, Richard. I believe she considers me her friend—despite my choice of husband,” she joked and stroked his leg. She did not tell him of Margaret’s suggestion at Walsingham: I will do what I can for you.” She would not raise his hopes. And indeed, she was unsure if the queen even meant what she had said. But it was worth trying. “As I have said before, if women were to run the kingdom, there would be far less fighting and a lot more talking. Let me at least write to her, my love.”

  Richard cupped her chin in his hand and gave her a reluctant smile. “I feel better already, if that is possible. And if you would write on my behalf, I shall not stop you, although with Margaret so close to birthing, I know not how it will help.” He kissed her and stood, stretching. “I swear I thank God for you daily, Cecily Neville.”

  “Pish, husband!” Cecily retorted, picking up the spurs and carrying them to the chest where Richard kept his finest suit of armor. “’Tis my father you should thank, not God. Now, I will go and find my clerk and you should rest. I will send in the children in an hour to greet you.” She kissed his cheek and slapped away the hand that caressed her breast. “Nay, that will have to wait,” she said firmly.

  “Killjoy,” Richard said. He sighed, but fell back gratefully on the soft bed. Cecily’s letter to Margaret took her an hour to compose. The poor clerk started it no fewer than six times before Cecily was satisfied with the greeting alone.

  Your lowly obedient servant and bedewoman, Cecily, duchess of York, beseeches you with all humbleness and reverence possible that, in the wealth of your good and benign grace, it pleased you to suffer the coming of my simple person . . .

  Cecily halted, loathing herself for the ingratiating language that fell from her lips but knowing it was expected. She was reminded of the pompous prior of Walsingham, and she had the grace to smile. She went on to praise God and the Lady of Walsingham for the child Margaret was carrying, describing the gift in glowing terms: “the most precious, most joyful and the most comfortable earthly treasure that might come into this land and to our people.”

  Then she asked for the queen’s intercession with the council on Richard’s behalf and shuddered at her own groveling. She prayed it would have the desired effect, however.

  When the clerk had finished transcribing, Cecily dismissed him and contemplated her words. She pressed her hand into her side and sighed. The pilgrimage had not cured her infirmity, and indeed she had been in excruciating pain for several weeks following, but she had to admit it had eased over the summer. She truly believed the Virgin had interceded for her as a reward for her pilgrimage. However, Constance had been studying Galen and had learned about stones that lodged in the kidneys and blocked the passage of piss. So she insisted Cecily eat dark leafy vegetables, more nuts, and even the occasional plateful of beetroot, which Cecily detested. “This tincture of goldenrod may also be beneficial,” Constance told her, dropping some of the not unpleasant liquid into Cecily’s cider. Every day the doctor examined the contents of Cecily’s jakes and was certain her mistress’s problem was causing their strong odor, corroborating Galen’s theory. Constance assured her mistress that her preparations would eliminate her pain. “Then ply me with your remedies, dear Constance, I beg of you,” Cecily told the good doctor. But she still prayed daily for divine intervention as well.

  She made sure her letter was signed, sealed, and put into the hands of a trusted messenger before she returned to Richard. He was curled up on the bed, snoring gently, and she had not the
heart to wake him. She knew he would not be pleased that she had sent the letter before showing it to him, but she wanted the words to be hers—and she had confidence that the queen would recognize Cecily’s own voice, despite the overwrought phrases.

  She knelt by the bed and put her hands together, observing that sleep took some of the careworn lines from Richard’s face. Dear Mother of God, she prayed, let the king recover soon, let my letter please Margaret and thus help Richard, and—Cecily smiled sardonically—let life return to normal.

  HENRY’S ILLNESS PERSISTED, and when Queen Margaret gave birth to a son on the thirteenth day of October, the king was oblivious to the event. He never moved a muscle when first shown his heir, causing rumors to fly that little Edouard, as Margaret pronounced his name, was perhaps not Henry’s.

  “I do not believe it, Cecily,” Richard retorted, as they sat before the fire after a supper of pigeon pie. Bess and Margaret played a game of checkers and George pranced around the chamber on a wooden hobby horse under Anne of Caux’s watchful eye. “A proud woman like that would not give herself to anyone beneath her rank. Nay, she would never cuckold the king—not even with Somerset. Where did you hear such an evil rumor?”

  Cecily was holding one-year-old Dickon’s hands while he tried to take a few steps away from her on his unsteady legs, and she marveled at the strength in his fingers and his grim determination. “Gresilde heard it from her husband. I, too, think ’tis absurd. I do not think even Margaret would be foolish enough to have named Somerset little Edward’s godfather if he had been her lover. That would be blasphemous, in truth, hypocrisy notwithstanding. Besides, the earl is old enough to be her grandfather.”

  “Hardly, Cis!” Richard laughed. “And when, pray, has that stopped a man before. He is only five years older than I. And I do not expect to be a grandfather for a while.” He got up and took over walking Dickon, praising his youngest at every step.

  “It will not be long, my dear. Anne is of age now.” Cecily frowned. When Alice and Cecily had visited Anne at Coldharbour, Cecily had remarked upon the dark circles under her daughter’s eyes and that her gown hung shapelessly on her. Granted, Anne was still only fourteen, but Cecily remembered her tendency to plumpness as a child and she had imagined the girl would have a few womanly curves by now. The young duchess had been ecstatic at the visit of her mother and aunt—a little too excited, Alice had said upon their return to the Erber. “I pray her husband treats her well,” she had remarked. I must write to her on the morrow, Cecily thought now and, snapping out of her reverie, she upbraided George for deliberately interfering in Dickon’s progress.

  “That was not kind, George,” Cecily admonished the tow-headed child with the winning smile. “Instead of taunting your brother, come and tell me what you did today.”

  CECILY HAD ONLY just signed her name on a letter to Anne the next morning when the sound of horsemen entering the courtyard caught her attention. Leaning out of the window, she saw three strangers, obviously well born, judging by their velvet mantles and the quality of their coursers, dismounting with the help of Fotheringhay pages. Instructing her clerk to hurry with the sealing of her missive, she pressed her signet ring with its falcon insignia into the sticky wax and left the room with Constance to find Richard.

  “I did not recognize the men,” she told her attendant, “but they appear to have ridden hard.”

  Richard welcomed her into his privy chamber a few minutes later and presented her to Sir Thomas Tyrell and two other courtiers, who looked askance at the intrusion. However, they had heard about the duchess and were therefore not too surprised when Richard grinned and assured them, “Her grace and I have no secrets from each other, sirs. I pray you, keep us waiting no longer.”

  Sir Thomas was a big man with iron-gray hair showing under his floppy hat, and he was clearly awed by the ducal couple now standing together. He bowed low again and discharged his mission.

  “The king’s council has requested your presence at the next meeting, your grace,” he began, too intimidated to use the word “summoned” as instructed. “You are requested to proceed from here to London—peaceably and measurably accompanied.”

  “Peaceably and measurably?” Richard reiterated. “What can that mean, Sir Thomas?”

  Sir Thomas inclined his head and looked sheepish. “They did recall the last time you came to London . . . ’tis all, your grace.” And he stepped back, waiting for a harsh reprimand for his boldness.

  But Richard took pity on the messenger. “Ah, I understand, sir.” He turned to Cecily, taking her arm. “Perhaps I had a few too many at my back last time, my lady. What think you?”

  “I think you should listen to Sir Thomas, my lord, and hear him out,” Cecily said.

  Richard nodded. “Is there more, sir?”

  “I have to report that the lord chancellor and my lord of Somerset will not be present,” Tyrell said quickly, shooting Richard a guarded look. Cecily felt Richard’s fingers grip her arm through her sarcenet sleeve, but his expression never changed. “The council seeks to find the right path to take in view of the birth of the prince of Wales. I am instructed to tell you that the council is to meet to set to rest and make union among all the lords of this land . . . including your grace and . . .” He stopped, seeing Richard’s tacit understanding.

  Cecily gulped, for she had realized that with this cryptic message the council was giving Richard permission to bring charges against Somerset. It was a daring move, Cecily thought, longing to discuss it with Richard later, as the duke of Somerset had never been more powerful than he was now, despite the news that Bordeaux had finally surrendered, leaving only Calais and its pale as English possessions in France.

  “I shall gladly obey the summons of the council. And I thank you for a message so faithfully tendered,” Richard said, acknowledging Tyrell’s diplomacy with a nod.

  “Sir Thomas, I pray you tell us how fares our sovereign king Henry?” Cecily asked, again astonishing Tyrell with such unaccustomed lack of deference to her husband. Ladies did not usually ask questions with a husband present. He stared at the beautiful duchess with respect. “We have such little news here at Fotheringhay,” Cecily continued, “although, certes, we gave thanks for the safe delivery of England’s heir. I trust her grace, the queen, and the prince of Wales are in good health.”

  It was a masterful stroke, Richard recognized proudly, and showed the three men that the duke and duchess of York were not only loyal subjects, full of concern for their sovereign majesties, but also that they recognized Margaret’s son as true heir and prince of Wales. Richard could have kissed his wife on the spot.

  The king’s condition had not changed, Tyrell told them, but the new prince was healthy, as was his mother, who was still confined to her apartments. He also mentioned that Somerset was with the king, who had been moved to Windsor Castle.

  Richard let go of Cecily’s arm and gave the courtiers a warm smile. “Again we thank you for your good services. Certes, you will all lodge with us, will you not?”

  “SOMERSET IS IN the Tower at last, Cecily!” Richard told his wife triumphantly one day in November upon returning from a council meeting in Westminster’s Star Chamber. They were staying in a house borrowed from the bishop of Salisbury outside the city wall and hard by Fleet Street. “Norfolk accused him of treason for bringing about the loss of our territories in France and demanded he be arrested and imprisoned. Praise be to God, the council agreed.”

  Cecily felt her knees go weak. This was a momentous decision for the council to make, and she never thought Richard would find enough support to bring the arrest about.

  “Who was there, my lord?” she asked. “Surely not the king’s men—men like Kemp, Buckingham, Worcester, Tudor?”

  Richard rubbed his hands with relish. “Aye, they were and nearly everyone agreed. We have all now taken an oath to uphold Henry’s government in his illness. They are allowing Devon to be freed from Wallingford to join the council, and they have granted me
leave to bring back my own councillors. Aye, Sir William is among them, you will be pleased to hear.”

  “Sweet Mother of God,” Cecily interjected on a long exhale. She chose her next words carefully. “Are you . . . are you in charge? Someone has to be.”

  “I know not at this moment, Cis.” Richard shrugged and eased himself into his chair, first slapping at a flea on the cushioned seat. “But what I can tell you is that I have been re-granted Baynard’s and we can leave this house, send for the children, and celebrate a very festive Christmas there. Does that meet with your approval?”

  “Oh, Richard,” Cecily cried, rising and draping herself on his lap, “it most assuredly does. Can we have the boys leave Ludlow too?” She nuzzled into his neck as a child might, but the words she now whispered in his ear were those of a confidante and lover.

  Richard felt his passion well up as their kiss reminded both of them of their younger bliss. It was as though the tension of the past two years had been miraculously loosed, and for the first time since returning from Ireland, they sent their attendants away and gave themselves up to a night of such carefree lovemaking that they fell asleep, exhausted, just as the cock crowed.

  CECILY WAS NEVER happier than at that Yuletide season with all of her children around her and Richard wreathed in smiles as his position on the council became firmer. As Richard promised, they returned to Baynard’s Castle. Cecily loved the south-facing apartments that looked out over the Thames. This was one of the few fortified London town residences, and Cecily could not have felt more secure behind its walls.

  “You never know what is waiting around the bend,” she told Constance a few days after Epiphany, as Meggie practiced on her lute and Gresilde showed Bess a new dance step. “We are safe today, but if the king recovers and releases Somerset, I fear my cousin will think nothing of threatening us.”