Queen By Right

by Anne Easter Smith

  Her daughter was in her bedrobe, sitting on the end of her bed, awaiting her turn for Cecily’s goodnight kiss.

  “Now we can talk, Margaret,” Cecily began, and thirteen-year-old Meg trembled, knowing that when her mother used her full name, it was almost certainly serious. “I fear George may be right and the king is come to do battle. It seems to me the time for parleying is done.” She sat down next to the girl and patted her knee. “I shall not explain to you now what has led up to this confrontation with the king and queen, but when we are safe again with your father at Fotheringhay, you shall know. For now, I need you to be sensible, and of all my children, you are the most sensible, the cleverest,” she told the blushing Meg. “I am thus counting on you to watch over the boys in case neither your father nor I can do so in the next few days.”

  Meg’s hand flew to her mouth at these fearful words, and her slate-gray eyes grew wide with disbelief. “You would not go anywhere without us, would you, Mam? Are we in danger?”

  “Certes, I would not leave you alone, sweet child,” Cecily assured her, “but if your father needs me to leave or to go with him, then I must.” She could not bear to voice her fear that she might be taken or even killed if Richard were not victorious, and what would become of her children?

  She recognized the bitter taste in her mouth was more anger mounting in her. She wanted to accuse Richard for this dangerous predicament, but she knew she was not blameless. Instead she forced herself to focus on Meg’s worried face. “That is probably not going to happen, but you are the oldest in the nursery and, in case of need, you must bear some responsibility for your brothers. There are loyal servants here who will take you to Aunt Alice at Middleham or to your sister at Dartington if that becomes necessary. Now, stop looking like a fish searching for food and tell me you understand what I am saying. I am counting on my brave Meg.”

  Meg drew herself up and clasped her hands neatly on her lap. “I understand, Mother. I will be brave.”

  “Is there aught I can do for you now, child? I see you have Ambergris under the bed, and you have Beatrice to keep you company.”

  Meg nodded. “You should tell Ned his dog is here, Mother, and that I will look after him.” With a catch in her throat, she asked, “I should like more than anything to wish Father a God’s good night. Is it possible?”

  Cecily knew the child had avoided the word good-bye and was relieved. She stood up. “I shall tell him to come directly. Goodnight, my dear,” and she swept out of the room before Meg could see her tears.

  AFTER RICHARD HAD said farewell to his favorite daughter, he returned to the great hall, his mood somber. Cecily and Gresilde had joined the lords, who were now draining the dregs from their cups and preparing to ride down the hill to spend the night in the camp with their troops. Richard shook off his melancholy and picked up his leather gauntlets.

  “Are we ready, comrades?” With a rousing assent the men exited the hall and hurried down the steps to where their huge destriers were being held by grooms. Richard lagged behind, pulling Cecily behind an oaken aumbry displaying the household silver, and kissed her trembling mouth with a fierceness that troubled her.

  “Pray for us, Cis. Pray that the king accepts our petition at the last minute and I shall return here on the morrow without an arrow being loosed. But if we fight and lose, submit yourself to Henry. He will not harm you or the children.” And he kissed her again. “Oh, how I have loved you, Cecily Neville,” he told her anxious eyes. “For all my life I have loved you. I warrant no others in this realm have loved as deeply as we have. I must return to you—I will return to you.”

  This time it was Cecily who drew his mouth to hers and stopped it with another urgent kiss. “And I have loved you with every breath, my sweet Richard. Take my heart with you, for if you do not return, I would live without it anyway.”

  They heard his name called by the mounted knights, and he let her go reluctantly. “Adieu, my proud Cis, my rose of Raby!” he called, striding to the door.

  Cecily ran after him. “Not adieu, my lord! But au revoir.” She followed him out into the night where the darkness hid her misery and she could stand alone on the steps to watch his torches recede. Then she flew across the courtyard to her sanctuary in the round chapel to pray for his return.

  AN HOUR LATER, still on her knees, it seemed as though her prayers to the Virgin had been answered, for she heard the portcullis rise noisily on its chain, and the thud of hooves told her the lords must be back. Puzzled, she ran to the great hall steps, arriving in time to see Richard emerge first from the passage through the gatehouse.

  “How now, my lord?” she cried, as he swung off his mount, his armor clanking. “What is amiss?”

  Richard said nothing but grasped her arm and led her inside. They were followed by Salisbury and a furious Warwick.

  “That whoreson traitor Trollope!” he cried. “If I ever find him . . .”

  Pages and other retainers had begun to settle down on the floor of the hall for the night when the sudden arrival of the lords roused them, adding to the chaos as the knights, their spurs ringing on the black and white stone floor, began unstrapping their armor.

  “What happened, Richard?” Cecily asked her husband, helping him unbuckle his sword. She looked around for Roger Ree and spotted him making his way to his master. “Help my lord with this, Master Ree,” she commanded, as Richard was too preoccupied with Warwick’s ranting.

  “Those sons of bitches! My own men of Calais. Pah! Traitors, cowards all! May they be damned in hellfire!” Warwick swore, flinging his gauntlets onto the dais.

  “Swearing will not bring them back,” his father said, almost as though he were talking to a small boy. “We have no time for whining over what has occurred. We must decide what to do about it.”

  “Andrew Trollope, a captain under Warwick, has slipped away with many of the Calais men to fight for the king,” Richard explained to Cecily. “It was a goodly number that left and he took others of our troops with them. They came willingly enough here, knowing the possible consequences, but in the end, the turncoats claimed they could not bear arms against their king.”

  “Traitors all!” Ned’s voice rose from the group now, and Cecily gasped when she saw her two sons in full armor standing among the others. Dear God, they are indeed men, she thought miserably. Seeing them fully armed shattered the image that she had of them playing together as children on the deck of the ship bound for Ireland, with miniature bows and arrows at the butts, or wrestling on the grass in brotherly sport. But now they were arrayed for real fighting, and her stomach lurched.

  The lords and their councillors sat discussing strategy long into the night. Cecily dozed on the steps of the dais.

  Finally Richard thumped his fist on the table and rose, knocking over his stool and jolting Cecily awake. “So we are agreed,” he cried. “Our cause is lost if we fight with such diminished numbers, and if we surrender we will surely be executed to a man. We should allow our troops to slip away as best they may. Tell me we are agreed.”

  A resigned “Aye” answered him.

  Richard thanked those who had joined him there at Ludlow and advised them to return to their homes. “I thank you all for your good counsel. I shall go north into Wales and then, God willing, to Ireland. Rutland will come with me, and March will go to Calais with Warwick and Salisbury. I fear most of us will be attainted, but if you will bear with us, we can bide our time until the moment is ripe to return. I shall keep you informed as best I can.”

  A youthful voice caused all heads to turn to the end of the table. It was Edmund, and Cecily glowed when he began to speak.

  “I crave your pardon, your grace, but what plans have you made for my lady mother, the duchess, and my brothers and sister? Will they go with us to Ireland?”

  The heads swiveled back to Richard, who gave his son a warm smile. “My heartfelt thanks to you, Edmund, for reminding me of my duty to my wife, but I have not forgotten her, I assure you.” He tu
rned to Cecily, who he knew was listening. “On the advice tonight of your brother and some of my other councillors, my lady, I shall ask that you remain with the children and throw yourself upon the mercy of the king.”

  Edmund rose then, his face white. “Upon the mercy of the queen, you mean, my lord!” he shouted. All eyes turned once again to him. “That woman hates us. I would not put it past her to murder our mother and Meggie, George, and Dickon in cold blood! I shall not go with you. I shall stay and defend them with my life.”

  At that Edward jumped to his feet. “And I shall stay with Edmund, my lord.”

  Again the heads swiveled to the top of the table. Before Richard could speak, Cecily left her spot on the dais steps and came to stand beside him, looking fondly down the table. “My dear sons, you make me proud,” she assured them. “But I must do what my lord and his councillors decide—as must you. What good are you to the house of York if you are dead?” She looked from one face to the other, seeing adoration on one and duty on the other, and she smiled. “Do not be afraid for me, boys. Margaret of Anjou may be a schemer, but I believe King Henry has a fondness for me. He is too saintly a man to harm a woman and her children, and it is a good solution that I request his mercy for us all. If I know King Henry, he will not hesitate to be charitable.”

  A murmur of assent followed this speech, and Edward sat down promptly, a grin of satisfaction on his face. Edmund, Cecily realized with sadness, was humiliated that she had dismissed his gallantry, but she could not run to him and console him for fear of wounding his pride further. You see you can be brave, my son, she told him with her eyes and was rewarded with a glimmer of a smile.

  “To horse then, my lords. Send your captains to inform the troops they may leave their posts and slip quietly away.” Richard grunted. “I would very much like to stay and see the queen’s and young Somerset’s faces when they awake tomorrow facing an empty meadow, but not enough to risk my life and our cause.” He took a deep breath and swept his gaze over those seated at the table. “And if there are those of you who believe ’tis best to submit to the king and receive his pardon, then I shall not stand in your way. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your loyalty and service and wish you God speed, my lords, gentlemen.”

  The company made their farewells, and one by one made reverences to Cecily, awe, respect, or pity in their eyes. It was still dark two hours before dawn, giving the Yorkist troops plenty of time to gather their belongings and steal away.

  Richard embraced his wife quickly and told her he had arranged for a few guards to remain with her, including Piers Taggett, then he left without a backward look, knowing they had said their good-byes earlier. With a supreme effort, Cecily steeled herself for the farewell with her older sons, embracing them both in turn.

  “You will write to me from Calais, Ned,” she said, still giving him motherly instructions. “And listen to your uncle and cousin.”

  Her six-feet-three-inch son grinned down at her, shaking his head. “Have you forgotten I am no longer a child, my dear lady mother? I promise I shall write, but I may sometimes keep my own counsel when it comes to my uncle and brother.”

  Then it was Edmund’s turn, and it was all Cecily could do not to throw herself on the floor and beg Richard to leave him with her. Instead she embraced him tenderly.

  “I love you for speaking up, Edmund,” she whispered. “You see, I knew you had courage, and now your father knows it, too.” As he knelt for her blessing, she said simply, “God bless you, my son.”

  And then her menfolk were gone—her husband, her two sons, her brother, and her nephew and all their retinues, galloping into the Welsh hills, there to go their separate ways. She shivered and only then realized she was cold, but not as cold as when she finally climbed into her empty bed and lay there aching for Richard’s familiar warmth.

  CECILY COULD NOT sleep. Her mind was a jumble of images from the past days, snatches of conversations, fanciful imaginings, frightening thoughts, and whispered prayers. She wanted to cry, but she could not. When would she see her husband and sons again? Their flight was better than watching their bodies being dragged off the Ludford field, she supposed, trying to take comfort from that.

  Despite her despair at her menfolk’s departure, and despite the fear for her children’s safety, Cecily could not ignore the anger that threatened to overwhelm those first two emotions. Why did Richard not see this coming? Why had he not insisted on her leaving with the children as soon as word came that Henry was on the move toward them? And then, she had to admit that she, too, should have insisted and hadn’t, selfishly wanting to stay by her husband’s side. Damn, damn, damn! she muttered, what have I done?

  She heard the cock crow and that sound brought her to the present and chased the nightmares away. She was thinking clearly now. Throwing on her heavy shawl and her soft leather shoes, she sidled past Gresilde and Constance, asleep on their truckle beds, and slipped out of the door. She ran along the passageway to the gallery of the great hall, not daring to look down and remember the earlier scene. She wanted to feel the fresh air on her face and look across the walls of the town and the Teme to see whether the king was still there. Perhaps he too had slipped away in the night, she thought hopefully. But once on the high ramparts, she knew it had been a false hope.

  In the pale dawn, she could see men from the front lines of the king’s army hurrying back and forth to the abandoned fortified trench. Then mounted men galloped to it, and she could hear surprised shouting and a trumpet fanfare, waking the rest of the camp. What would happen now? she wondered. Would they just leave? It was quite clear to any clodpoll that there was no one to do battle with. She could see from her perch that the streets of Ludlow were also deserted and the shutters were closed on all the houses. Only the bell of St. Lawrence gave proof that anyone was alive in the town.

  It was not long before she saw the first line of soldiers beginning to clamber through the trench and to remove the sacks, carts, and other barricade debris left by the Yorkists. It was then that Cecily realized that once the floodgate was opened to this trickle of trouble, there would be nothing to stop Henry’s army from rushing through the breach, crossing the big meadow, and entering the town. Would he, in fact, attack an undefended town? Perhaps not, but she could not take that chance. Her pulse began to race and she ran back down the stairs.

  “Arouse the boys and dress them quickly,” she ordered Nurse Anne, who simply curtseyed and obeyed without question.

  Next she ran to Margaret’s chamber and told Beatrice to dress her young mistress and attend her in the great hall as soon as she could. Then it was her turn to have Gresilde and a tiring woman dress her in her magnificent blue gown, quickly braid her hair, and push it under her tallest hennin. Hooking the gold clasp of her purple velvet mantle about her shoulders, Cecily stood back to appraise her appearance in the mirror. “My sapphire necklace, Gresilde. Hurry!” she commanded. Whatever happened to her, she would not go without her mother’s precious gift. “And wrap as many of my jewels as you can into bundles for you and the other ladies to carry hidden in your sleeves. If the castle is plundered, we shall not leave them much to gloat over.”

  Frightened though they were, the attendants took their cue from their indomitable mistress and did her bidding without hesitation.

  Already there was pandemonium in the streets of Ludlow when Cecily and her ladies made their way swiftly to the great hall. Shouts and screams could be heard in the distance. The three children were already waiting for her. Dickon was clutching Nurse Anne’s skirts.

  “Where is Constance?” Cecily barked, looking among the cringing servants for her favorite companion. “Dear God, do not tell me she has already gone to tend the wounded left behind.”

  Beatrice nodded. “I tried to stop her, your grace, but she said there was one poor lad who was close to death and she wanted to pray with him.”

  Cecily spotted Piers Taggett calming a whimpering pageboy and called to him. “Master Tagg
ett, be so kind as to go and find Doctor LeMaître. She is somewhere in the lodgings given over to the wounded by the Postern Tower. Go quickly!” Piers, who had armed himself with a sword the night before to protect his beloved duchess, strode from the hall in search of the physician.

  Cecily called her boys to her but stayed Margaret. She knelt between them and smiled encouragingly. “Are you ready to embark on an adventure, my sons?”

  George smiled back, nodding his head vigorously, but Dickon looked skeptical. “An adventure, Mam? What kind of adventure? I do not like all that yelling and screaming. What is happening? And where is Father—and Ned and Edmund?”

  “They have gone on their own adventure, Dickon. They will tell you all about it when next you see them, and you will be able to tell your story. Now, I need you to listen carefully.” Seeing Dickon’s face relax a little, she told them what she wanted them to do. They listened wide-eyed. “Do you think you can be brave with me?” she finished, and was dismayed to see tears in Dickon’s eyes and fear in George’s.

  “Gresilde, Beatrice, and the other ladies, I pray you take charge of Lady Margaret and walk a few paces behind me. There will be no guards, no men at all about us.” As imperiously as she could, she eyed the men and boys who remained, for they must obey her or pay with their lives, she knew. “I pray my actions will have the desired effect, but I give you leave to go—hide yourselves or run. I fear the queen’s army will not be merciful to you. I thank you for loyal service to the duke and me, and God be with you all.”

  “God bless Duchess Cecily!” an old man cried, and suddenly the room was filled with shouts of “A York! A York!” and the hairs on Cecily’s neck rose as she took her sons by the hand and started for the door.

  Piercing screams and sounds of horsemen and metal on metal were closer now. She gripped the boys more tightly but kept on walking. Seeing that she meant to leave the castle, the two guards manning the portcullis heaved up the grille far enough for the little group to pass under it into the outer bailey before letting it fall behind them. The portcullis might keep out the enemy coming from the town, Cecily realized, but not from the duke’s private door in the back of the castle. She could hear from the sound of loud thuds and splintering wood that a group of soldiers had discovered that entry after crossing the Teme by the Dinham Bridge. Just in time the portcullis was lowered behind the duchess as the inner bailey was breached and soon crawling with soldiers looking for valuables to steal and Yorkists to skewer and rape.