“And what of the queen?” Cecily had asked, always wary of the whereabouts of Richard’s nemesis.
“She fled into Wales after Northampton. Our informants have no more news,” Edward had told her, playing with a large ruby ring on his forefinger. Every time she saw him Cecily found herself wondering how she and Richard could have borne such a handsome mountain of a man. Even his hands, she noted then, were twice the size of hers.
“I confess, I can hardly wait to see Edmund,” he said now, as he handed Cecily into the carriage. “How good it will be to have the whole family together again.”
“Aye, it will indeed, my son. But until then, I shall trust you to look after the others like a good boy,” she said, and chuckled at his indignation at being called a boy. “Ned, I know you have been in battle, been in exile, and seen much at eighteen, but to me you are still my boy. Now kiss me and be gone. I am in no mind to keep your father waiting.”
WHEN CECILY ARRIVED in Hereford, curious bystanders watched the impressive carriage rumble over the stone bridge spanning the Wye, past the square-towered cathedral, and across the drawbridge to the castle.
Cecily could hardly contain her excitement. She hated to have to wait for the captain of her guard to help her out of the vehicle. But as she always did when in the public eye, she walked slowly and confidently on his arm with a pleasant but detached expression on her face as she mounted the steps to the door of the great hall. She had been told that Richard’s pet name for her had been taken up by her countrymen. Proud Cis had come to enjoy living up to it.
Broad-shouldered Roger Ree, beaming a smile of welcome, was waiting for her.
“God’s good day to you, your grace,” he said, bowing low as he kissed her hand and took over escort duties from the captain.
“Good day to you too, Master Ree,” Cecily said. “’Tis glad I am to see you again.”
“I trust you had an uneventful journey. I am a sorry substitute for your husband, in truth, but he is in conference with some of his Welsh captains and hoped you would forgive him for sending me.”
How could she tell this loyal, jovial gentleman that she was disappointed that Richard had not been the first to greet her? She smiled then and assured him she quite understood her husband’s responsibilities.
“I am to take you directly to your apartment, duchess. I trust you will find it to your liking.”
When the door clicked shut, she gasped as she recognized her husband a split second before his hungry arms pulled her to him, his mouth on hers, and his familiar scent intoxicating her. She melted into his embrace, moaning with pleasure. Every nerve in her body tingled at his touch, and every emotion she had experienced over the year of anxious separation threatened to overwhelm her. She believed she was going to swoon.
“Ah, my precious Cis, how I have ached for you,” he murmured, sweeping her off her feet. He carried her to the bed, laid her down as though she were made of the most fragile silk, and carefully removed her elaborate chaperon to free her glorious hair.
Cecily could not speak she was so happy, but she could not take her hands or her eyes off him, caressing his hair now gray at the temples, stroking his face now devoid of beard, and allowing him to remove her shoes and stockings and run his hands up her legs and between her thighs.
“I cannot wait for you, my love,” he murmured, and fumbling with his codpiece, he cursed the points that fought his fingers until she gently undid them for him. In his turn Richard was less gentle as he pushed her skirts aside, and like any virginal boy of sixteen, he unleashed twelve months of pent-up desire into her willing body. They both gasped at the intensity of the rush that engulfed them a few moments later, and then, like embarrassed young lovers, giggled over the speed with which they had accomplished their pleasure.
“Richard, my Richard.” Cecily whispered his name over and over as though it were a prayer. “I thought never to see you again.” It was the truth she had never dared voice during their enforced separation and his exile, and the relief of feeling him next to her now brought that terrible fear out into the open.
“O thou of little faith,” Richard chided her, propping his head on his elbow and toying with her hair. “It was knowing you were waiting for me that spurred me on. I cursed myself for not taking you with me that night at Ludlow, my love. But my flight was not comfortable and, in truth, you and the children would have endangered us all.”
Cecily nodded. “You were right to go alone, Richard,” she said with a sigh. “We have much to talk of, but we have many years ahead of us to tell each other our adventures and misadventures, and no doubt they will keep us amused on long winter evenings when we are in our dotage.” She might even tell him of her anger after Ludlow one day, she thought, but not now.
Richard chuckled, kissed her, and then got up to straighten his clothes.
“Must you return to the Welshmen?” Cecily asked.
He feigned surprise. “Welshmen? What Welshmen?”
She laughed. “Certes! It was a ruse that you and Master Ree concocted, I’ll be bound. And there was I, cross that you were not waiting on the steps to greet me.” She rolled over and pinched his buttock as he bent to pull on his boot. “This was a far nicer greeting, in truth, but I wonder what Gresilde must think.”
And then the sound she had missed the most truly told her that Richard had returned. He threw back his head and laughed.
As he was leaving the room, he said, “And when you are properly clothed, my dear, I know there is a certain young man who cannot wait to wrap his arms around his mother.”
“Edmund!” Cecily cried, feeling guilty because she had not thought of him once in the past half hour. “My dearest, first find Gresilde for me, and then I will send for him.”
“MY PLAN IS to take my time going to London,” Richard told her as they lay in bed the next morning. “Warwick and I have met, and he has returned to Westminster with a request that the new council issue me a commission to investigate disturbances of the peace in several cities along our way. It will give me a chance to be seen by the populace as a man bent on reform, and if I recruit new followers, I shall not be unhappy.”
He was lying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring at the dingy canopy over the bed.
“Let us not talk of politics, my love,” Cecily said, running her finger along his chest and around his nipples. She was dismayed to find that it failed to arouse him this time. She stared at his hardened profile. Something had changed, she sensed, and yet he had been overjoyed to greet her yesterday.
“Did I disappoint you last night, my lord?” she asked. “Am I grown old and haggard in a year?”
Richard grinned then. “Far from it, my lusty wife. And you tempt me now, but . . .”
“But what, Richard? There is something you are not telling me, I am certain of it. What is it, my love? We have always been honest with each other, have we not? Or have you been so used to keeping your own confidences while we have been apart that you are out of the habit of sharing?”
Richard responded by getting out of bed, pulling his chemise over his head, and going to the fireplace. Cecily sat up, clasped her knees, and waited anxiously.
“I decided in Ireland that if I returned home I would assert my claim to the throne,” Richard muttered. Cecily gasped. “Warwick urged me to do it.”
Cecily was out of bed in a flash. Throwing her bedrobe about her, she went down on her knees to him. “I beg of you, do not do this, Richard. For the sake of us all.”
Richard’s tone softened. “I am sorry, Cis, but it is time. The king has no power over many of his councillors—and they are our enemies. With staunch supporters beside me such as Warwick, Salisbury, and Norfolk, the bishops of Canterbury and London, not to mention Edward, who is distinguishing himself daily, it is time to act. It is time the kingdom had a leader—a real king.”
“Sweet Jesu,” Cecily whispered. “Do you believe Margaret will sit back and allow her son’s right to the throne to be usurpe
d? There will be a bloodbath!”
“Usurped!” Richard cried, angrily. “And what about my right, Cecily? You have always upheld my right. What has changed?”
Cecily rose unsteadily and clutched his arm. “Nothing has changed but you, Richard, and the change frightens me. I have prayed daily for your return, and I had dreams of you standing at the king’s right hand again. But I did not dream of being queen.”
Richard gave a short bark of laughter. “Oh yes you did, Cis. Many years ago, I’ll grant you, but surely you knew after St. Albans that it would come to this?”
Sweet Mother of God, Cecily asked herself guiltily, is this all my fault? Have I created a monster that now threatens to destroy us? Her mind was reeling, but she knew she must keep her head. Perhaps by the time Richard got to London and she had been able to talk to him further, he would see reason.
BY THE TIME they reached Barnet, Richard had close to eight hundred men with him. He had been so busy along the route that Cecily had hardly seen him, let alone conversed with him. As she sat in her carriage at the rear of the cavalcade, ready for the last leg of the journey, she froze when, amid loud fanfares, she saw the new banner carried high over Richard’s head. Gone was the falcon and fetterlock, and gone was the white rose of York. This standard bore the arms of Lionel of Clarence, signifying Richard’s royal claim as descendant from the second son of a king. It was a direct challenge to the house of Lancaster, descendants of the third son of the same King Edward.
She saw Edmund coming to take his customary place beside her carriage and beckoned him to her. “I must speak with you about your father, Edmund. Do you see his banner? It will surely provoke the queen when she hears of it. Do you know his mind?”
Edmund smiled and Cecily could see he was full of pride for his father. “Indeed, I do, Mother, but surely he has told you too.”
Cecily scowled. “Aye, he has, and he knows my reservations.” She saw the procession was beginning to move and begged Edmund to ride in the vehicle with her.
“What happened in Ireland, Edmund?” she asked. “Your father seems changed.”
Edmund’s eyes shone with pride as he told her that in Ireland Richard had been treated as though he were the king. “Both the Anglo-Irish and the chieftains bowed down to him, and I was treated like a king’s son. Father took me into his confidence after many a meeting with the lords, and little by little I saw which way the wind was blowing with him. They urged him to return to England and take his rightful place. I knew it for certain after Warwick’s secret visit.”
Cecily was ashamed to feel a twinge of envy and sadness that Richard had found a new confidante in Edmund. Would it diminish her relationship with her favorite son? She dismissed the thought as petty and returned her attention to Edmund’s explanation of Richard’s present path.
“My dear Edmund,” she argued. “Henry is still the king in Ireland. The people are his subjects, not ours, and your father’s rightful place is as chief councillor. Now, I pray you, listen to my words—and not those in your swollen head.” She saw Edmund flinch from her rebuke and longed to reassure him of her love, but now was not the time. “Arriving in London under a royal standard will not help Richard’s case, I can assure you. I am afraid it will only incite violence, and if you think clearly, you will agree I am right. Now, I beg of you, fetch your father here, for if you will not persuade him to remove those banners, I will.”
Edmund opened his mouth to disagree but, recognizing the look of determination on his mother’s face, he decided to do her bidding. However, by the time he had mounted his horse, he could see that the army was already on the move and Richard was now unreachable. To her great chagrin, Cecily knew it too, and so all she could do was settle back into the cushions and fume.
THE BELLS OF St. Peter at Westminster were ringing for nones when, on the tenth day of October, Richard of York rode into the courtyard of Westminster Palace, trumpets and clarions blaring, which attracted a crowd. He waited until several of his immediate entourage had also dismounted, including Edmund, and then strode into the great hall.
Arriving behind the first group, Cecily did not wait for someone to hand her down from her carriage but managed with Gresilde’s help. The two women hurried inside, Cecily anxious to know Richard’s intentions. Being told her husband was on his way to the lords’ chamber, she almost ran. The door was wide, and although women did not enter that hallowed hall, she halted on the threshold and gasped when she saw her husband, already at the front of the chamber, with his hand upon the throne. She searched the faces for Richard’s enemies, but Lancastrian foes such as Exeter, Devon, and young Somerset had elected to stay away. When Richard turned back, expecting roars of approval from the gathered barons, he faced instead horrified expressions or stony stares. Poor Richard, Cecily thought grimly, ’twas not the reception you expected.
“I am come, my lords!” Richard announced as though the lords were all blind and stupid. “Who will accompany me to the council chamber?”
Cecily’s heart sank. She hardly recognized the man on the dais as her husband. Before she could motion to him from the doorway to stop this madness, Richard had run down the steps and was making for the archway at the back of the chamber, followed closely by Edmund. The lords surged after him, but their voices expressed shock and disapproval. The stunned ushers, who had finally gathered their wits, hurriedly closed the great oak doors on Cecily.
At a loss, Cecily moaned. “What shall we do now? Gresilde. We cannot enter the Star Chamber, but I fear the duke is on a path to destruction.” Dear God, she thought, he thinks he is the king. Ah, Richard, why must you be so rash now after being so patient all these years? Warwick has smoothed the way for you to get your wish to be Henry’s chief councillor, and London is ready for you. What more do you need? Oh, why had he not listened to her?
She looked about her and saw several armed men in the York livery milling about in doorways and so felt safe enough to make her way into the great hall. Gresilde was tut-tutting about the impropriety of their presence in this male bastion when suddenly Roger Ree appeared in front of them and quickly led them up the broad stairs to the royal lodgings.
“My lord duke will be taking over the king’s apartments, your grace. Follow me,” he said with purpose. The usually affable Master Ree seemed as disapproving of Cecily’s presence in these chambers as Gresilde was.
Taking over the king’s apartments, Cecily repeated to herself in horror as she mounted the narrow spiral staircase to the second floor, Gresilde puffing behind her. What did Richard intend to do with Henry? She felt sick to her stomach, and she was not sure she could take much more anxiety. Surely he did not plan to kill the king. From the reckless way Richard was acting, she had to wonder how far he would go, and she felt a deep dread.
Cecily could hear Richard’s voice floating down from the landing in front of the king’s apartments, which he had already reached by the back stair from the Star Chamber. When she arrived on the landing, breathless, she saw Richard’s way being barred by two guards.
“Open in the name of Richard, duke of York, sirrahs,” Richard commanded. The soldiers wavered momentarily, then held their halberds firmly crossed in front of the portal. It was then Richard saw Cecily. Thunderstruck, he strode to her, that strong chin leading. “My lady, why are you here?”
She recognized the stubborn stance, but held her ground. “I might ask you the same question, my lord,” she replied in a low voice. “What are your intentions for the king?” She held his gaze and waited for an answer.
He drew her aside then, his jaw tense. “You know I would no more harm that feeble-minded man than I would one of our daughters, Cecily. But I will assert claim now, and no one, not even you, shall stop me.” He caught her hand and held it to his heart. “I swear I will not harm him, but I will occupy the royal apartments to show my resolve.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, his gray eyes pleading with her. “Please support me now of all times, my love, I beg of you.”
He kissed her hand and, tucking it in his arm, commanded the guards to stand aside for the duke and duchess of York. This time the two men put up their weapons and Richard himself flung open the doors to the richly adorned antechamber, where a couple of attendants cowered in the corner.
“Where is his grace the king?” Richard demanded. Their eyes shifted to the door of another room, and following their gaze, he went to it and knocked. Cecily trailed behind at a discreet distance, and when the door opened she could see the king seated on a high-backed chair, his face a picture of bewilderment at this intrusion. She winced visibly at his discomfort, but she was mollified to see Richard at least give Henry due reverence before stating his intentions.
Two of Henry’s gentlemen stepped forward, daggers drawn, and tried to protest the duke of York’s outrageous demand that the king leave his own apartments and take lodgings in the queen’s rooms. Henry held up his hand and smiled sweetly at his champions.
“Forsooth and forsooth, sirs, it is pointless to argue. My lord of York has a stubborn look about him, and we shall have no fighting in here, do you understand?” His expression changed as a sadness fell over him. “Enough of my subjects have lost their lives already,” he said with a sincerity that moved Cecily deeply. “Nay, I shall be happy to lodge in the queen’s chambers”—he looked past Richard at Cecily in the doorway—“for in my experience a lady knows far more about living comfortably than a man, is that not so, duchess?”
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