Having forgotten that Cecily would have followed him, Richard swiveled around to see his wife in a deep curtsey. She smiled up at the king past her husband and nodded. “You have the measure of it, my liege. And have no fear, I shall make certain my husband sees to your comfort. After your kindness to me and my children at Ludlow,” she said, eyeing Richard purposefully, “it is the very least I can do.”
“Ah, well,” Henry replied. Richard could only stand and watch as the king rose, passed him by without a trace of rancor, and put out his hand to Cecily. “You and I go back many years, do we not, duchess? The first time we met, you were not so much in awe of me, I remember. There was some reference to Lot’s wife that amused my mother. You made quite an impression on her.”
Cecily smiled. “As she did on me, your grace. Your mother was a wise and beautiful woman.”
Henry held out his hand. “Come, my dear duchess, why do you not escort me to my new quarters, where we can reminisce. I confess, those were happier times than now, and it would cheer me greatly to talk of them.”
Ignoring Richard, the king escorted Cecily out of his own chambers with a calm dignity that left Richard chastened and speechless.
LATER RICHARD AND Cecily sat in the king’s solar, each occupied with their separate thoughts, when Roger Ree entered. He related that the earl of Salisbury had hurried from the council chamber after Richard’s unannounced arrival, there to report the events at Westminster to his son, Warwick, ensconced in his lodgings at Grey Friars, just inside the city wall. “He took Lord Edward with him,” Roger said with a slight hesitation and waited for the expected explosion, but Richard knew enough not to upbraid the messenger and he checked his temper. Cecily was puzzled by Ned’s action, but chose to stay silent as her fear increased.
And she said nothing when Richard left her to go to the council chamber the next day, while in his wife’s apartments on the other side of the courtyard, God’s anointed sat peacefully reading the Scriptures.
Richard was back in the royal lodgings when a barge decorated with the bear and ragged staff docked at the palace wharf. As Cecily was anxiously quizzing Richard on the morning’s events, the door burst open and Warwick and Edward strode in. Warwick gave her a quick bow, but he refused to reverence Richard.
“What is the meaning of this?” Richard cried to Warwick, as Edward went down on one knee to receive his father’s blessing. “Nephew, why were you not at the meeting today?”
The earl ignored both questions and came straight to the point. “My lord duke, with all due respect, your actions of the past few days are not aiding our cause, and you may be jeopardizing what we have strived for all these years.”
“In what way, my lord?” Cecily interrupted, not intimidated by her nephew’s piercing eyes and imperious stance. She hoped to temper the anger she saw boiling in Richard and she glared at her husband, willing him to control it.
“Were you aware that his grace took it upon himself to sit on the throne at the meeting today?” Warwick asked.
Cecily gulped as Warwick informed her that Archbishop Bourchier of Canterbury, formerly a staunch supporter, had hurried straight to Grey Friars to tell Warwick, his father, and Edward. “Even Canterbury cannot accept such audacious behavior, your grace,” Warwick told Richard. “And we cannot afford to lose his support. And so I made haste to come to you and ask that you reconsider your actions.” He watched Richard rise and start pacing the room. Cecily could not help but admire the younger man’s forthrightness. “In case you have forgotten, we have sworn to protect the king, not remove him—at least, those of us who were at Northampton did so swear. To all of our supporters you appear to be bent on breaking that oath,” he accused Richard haughtily.
Edmund had entered the room just as Warwick ended his tirade. Fists balled and jaw clenched, he advanced on his cousin, and before Richard could address Warwick’s accusation, Edmund came to his father’s defense.
“How dare you thus impugn my lord father,” he shouted. “He has every right to claim the throne, and you know it well, or you and your father would not have supported him all these years.” Then he rounded on Edward. “I did not hear you protesting, Brother. Are you with our cousin or with Father?”
“Hold your peace, Edmund,” Richard interjected, putting his hand on his son’s arm, his anger abating. “We are all on the same side, but it seems we have different objectives.”
“You always told me our objective was to rescue the king from his corrupt councillors and bring about reform, my lord,” Edward answered, keeping his distance so as not to appear to tower over his father. “We pledged a sacred oath to King Henry and to the people of the realm, and you told me that we returned to England to accomplish that objective. What has changed your mind, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
Cecily recognized the thrust of Richard’s chin and the lowering of his brow as a warning sign, and she held her breath. She looked helplessly from one to the other of her family, all in a stance of defensive indignation. She hardly recognized Edmund. What had happened to the frightened, gentle boy who had fled into the night at Ludlow? She feared she must blame Richard. He must have filled the lad’s head with dreams of a crown.
“If it had not been for Bolingbroke’s usurpation fifty years ago, Edward, I would be on the throne now by right of my ancestor Lionel of Clarence,” Richard said as if to a schoolboy. “I am tired of being passed by, exiled, shunned, or ignored. The people are weary of the ineffectual king. He has brought nothing but destruction and instability to the realm. They would be better governed by me, I believe, and the time for change has come.”
Cecily finally found her voice, and the men all turned to her when she spoke. “Nay, my lord, you are wrong. Not,” she hurried on, reassuring her husband, “about your claim to the throne but about your claim that the people can no longer tolerate Henry. While you were abroad, I had time to witness that in truth they love their king for his simplicity, his piety, and his gentleness. To them he is almost a saint, his madness a sign he has been touched by God, and—if you are fair—he himself has done no wrong.” She took a deep breath. “And now I must agree with my lord of Warwick that your recent behavior is causing dangerous confusion.” She balked at adding the obvious: treason.
Warwick snorted. “Confusion, Aunt? It is coming to open warfare.” He turned to Richard. “What would you have me tell the lords and the council, your grace? I will gladly be your envoy, if you will not go to them yourself.”
AN HOUR LATER Warwick was rowed back to the city with a written explanation of Richard’s family lineage and a letter asking that his detractors refute it, or if they could not, then to explain why he should not wear the crown.
Sadly, Cecily watched Edward go with him, hating the dissension between father and son. Later, she sat in the chair opposite her husband, who was despondently slumped in his.
“Where did I go wrong, Cis?” he asked so pathetically that Cecily held out her hand to him. She wished she could tell him, but she did not know. Somewhere between Ludlow, Ireland, and London, Richard had lost his way. And she grieved for those simple, long-ago dreams they had both shared.
ALL THROUGH OCTOBER the lords and bishops deliberated the question of Richard’s claim. They thought it was a matter between the king and the duke of York. Henry, in his usual fashion, could not make a decision except to tell his justices to find any objections they could to Richard’s written claim. But the justices refused, saying it was a matter for the king and God. Edmund told Cecily that one justice had remarked, “I fear the matter is so high it passes our learning.”
“Pah! What an assortment of craven, weak-willed bum-baileys they must be,” she had replied angrily.
What will become of this? Cecily wondered, gazing out of the window on that late October day and chewing on her lower lip. For more than a fortnight she had spent many hours trying to persuade Richard to listen to Warwick and take up his role of chief councillor, a role that she assured him would bring him jus
t as much power and satisfaction. But he remained unmoved. He refused even to see the king, though he was lodged so close at the palace. She also spent many more hours on her knees in the royal chapel, which did not afford her the comfort her prayers usually did.
Meg was practicing her psaltery across the room. Cecily was vaguely aware that her daughter was not a gifted player, but the music soothed her anyway. She was idly turning the pages of The City of Ladies, in which Christine de Pisan imagined a world run by powerful women, when a rap at the door was followed by the unannounced entry of the man always on her mind.
“Richard?” she questioned, startled but pleased that he should seek her out at this time of day. He had eschewed her bed for more than a week now, and her spirits were very low. Meg abandoned her instrument to go to her father and was rewarded with a kiss.
Cecily was relieved to see Richard smiling, and she approached him with hands outstretched. After only a hint of hesitation, he took them both and kissed each in turn. Then, taking her to the velvet-cushioned settle, he invited her to sit with him. Meg tactfully made her excuses, always embarrassed by her parents’ affection for each other, and left them alone.
“What is it, Richard?” Cecily whispered. “You seem . . . well, more at ease” was the only way she could describe the visibly lessened tension in his shoulders and neck. Even the frown that had marred his pleasant features of late was gone.
“I have come to tell you that you and Warwick have won. My quest for the crown was ill-advised. Aye, I see that now, and I shall not pursue it.” He saw her face brighten, a reply upon her lips, but he stayed it with a raised hand. “But I have also won, my dear, for I have had my claim acknowledged—my right accepted.”
Cecily raised an eyebrow. “How? What can you mean?”
“The lords have come to a decision, and the king has agreed to it,” Richard told her, masking his bitter resignation. “It is not the one I had hoped for all those months in Ireland, but it is acceptable to me for the sake of peace in the kingdom. I hope ’tis acceptable to you.” He noticed the dark circles under Cecily’s eyes and the melancholy evident in them and felt a pang of guilt, guessing he was the cause, but he could not apologize yet for doing what he thought was right. “Before I tell you, Cecily, I must hear from you whether you believe I would have made a good king.”
Cecily looked down at her ruby betrothal ring and then up at him. “With all my heart I do, my love. And I have believed in your Mortimer claim from the first time I heard it at my mother’s knee from no less a man than my uncle, Cardinal Beaufort. Surely you must know that. Have I not been by your side, counseled you, perhaps pushed you sometimes against your will, and never wavered in my love for you all these years?” She hesitated for a second but knew she must speak what was in her mind. It was the least she owed her beloved husband—her lord. “But I also take as true that Henry is the Lord’s anointed and that to depose him would be a sin. But aye, my lord, I do believe you would have made a better king. Does that mean I reject your claim? Nay, it means we have a moral dilemma and one I am overjoyed to hear you say you have resolved.” She smiled. “When we were children and I said I should like to be a queen, I was but dreaming. Now I know better. A crown does not afford one happiness. Look at Henry and Margaret. Nay, I am content to be your duchess.”
“Or we could add Queen by right to your title.” Richard laughed, gazing with love and respect at his remarkable consort. He took a deep breath. “I thank you for your honesty, Cis. First, you will be relieved to know I have relinquished my claim—for now—and have accepted the will of Parliament and Henry.” He then murmured an aside: “I pray history will judge me an honorable man.” Seeing Cecily impatiently waiting for the crux of his bargain, he hurried on. “It has been agreed by all that Henry shall wear the crown as long as he lives, but on his death, it shall pass to me and to my heirs. I have no doubt our son will be king one day.”
Cecily gasped, taking in his words. Her relief was overwhelming. She slipped to her knees and crossed herself. “That is indeed a remarkable resolution, Richard,” she said, but then, with hesitant incredulity, she asked, “Am I to understand that Henry is willing to disherit his own son? I fear the queen will not take the news well. Did none of the councillors point this out to his grace?”
Richard scoffed, “I care not what Margaret of Anjou thinks, Cecily. Nor do the people of England. They have turned against her. It does not sit well when a woman attempts to govern and, as I have said before, a Frenchwoman at that. And she has demonstrated willful cruelty to her subjects. Besides, the rumor persists that Edouard is not Henry’s child.”
“Ah, Richard,” Cecily said, and sighed. “I pray you have not stooped to spreading such a lie.”
“Nay, Wife, but I will not defend the lady either,” he assured her. Joining her on his knees, he took her face in his hands. “Do not concern yourself with Margaret, I beg of you, but simply rejoice in the new turn in our fortunes.” He kissed her mouth tenderly. “I bless the day you entered my life, Cecily Neville. A man could not hope to have a better consort.”
“Pish, Richard!” Cecily retorted. “I—”
She did not finish, for Richard had stopped her mouth with another kiss—one that would have made Meggie blush.
“I SWEAR TO almighty God and all his saints that I will honor you, Henry, as my sovereign lord until the end of your days and that I shall do nothing to hurt or diminish your reign or royal dignity, nor do anything or consent to anything that might lead to the endangerment or end your natural life. So help me God.”
Richard knelt and kissed Henry’s ring. The king sat on the very throne that Richard had claimed not twenty days before. Cecily had been given special permission to watch the ceremony from the small gallery of the chamber, and she knew what pride her husband had had to swallow for him to kneel there before the king and his lords and bow his head. It is for the best, my dearest, she reminded him silently. Now, God willing, we can all live in peace.
It was Edward’s turn to give his pledge, and her heart lurched when she saw her magnificent son bend on one knee to the uninspiring monarch enthroned in his monkish garb. Edward’s ringing young voice echoed his father’s words and with more generosity of spirit. Edmund was barely audible when it came his turn. And then the king rose and in a flat monotone without malice or bitterness spoke his piece.
“I, Henry, by the grace of God king of England and France and Lord of Ireland, do recognize the claim to the throne of Richard, duke of York, and his heirs, which shall be theirs at the time of my death and not before. I charge all persons here to put it abroad that it shall be considered an act of high treason for any person to conspire against the said duke’s life. And now, my lords, you must swear to uphold this agreement and all its particulars with the duke, as he must now swear to defend you from those who would object to it. Do you swear?”
With one voice the lords cried, “Aye, we swear.” Cecily’s skin prickled. She looked down at her husband, standing proudly between his two strapping sons under a huge iron chandelier, and was mesmerized at the sight of so many candles shining brightly down on their heads.
Then below her she heard Henry call to Richard. “My lord, we should hear evensong. Will you accompany me to St. Paul’s?”
“’Tis done well, Grizzy, very well,” she said to Gresilde as they left, but then she frowned. “However, I know not what Margaret of Anjou will say—or do—when she is told her son has been disinherited. As a mother, I know my claws would be sharp and showing.”
Cecily was not the only one pondering the queen’s reaction to the new succession, as she learned from Richard later.
“Henry was asked outright to send the proclamation to Margaret skulking in Wales and have her swear to uphold it along with their son,” Richard told her, as they knelt on their cushions in front of their little altar to give thanks. “For a moment he glared at us as though he would assert his authority and refuse, but then, much to our astonishment, he threw bac
k his head and laughed. ‘My lords, do you really believe the queen listens to anything I say? Nay! I think you will have a fight on your hands, for you have threatened the thing dearest to her heart—her son’s future.’” Richard paused as he opened the book of hours to his favorite prayer. “For once I believe Henry was thinking clearly. We dare not dismiss the queen’s ambition so lightly.”
Cecily resisted saying, “I have been telling you so all along.”
THE NEXT DAY, Cecily’s assessment of the Londoners’ affection for Henry was borne out when the king, appeasing their wish for a formal procession and holiday, sallied forth, and the citizens cheered and chanted “Long Live King Henry!” along the route. Warwick, bearing the sword of state, walked ahead of Henry, who was decked in royal purple with a crown upon his head. Cecily could hear cries of “Warwick! Warwick!,” again revealing the strength of her nephew’s hold on the capital.
Edward had been given the honor of holding the king’s train, and behind him, alone on horseback, rode Richard. The few shouts of “Long live the duke of York!” were drowned out by the others, and Cecily, in a litter with Meg, was saddened that Richard’s actions of late had tarnished his reputation with the people. He is a good man, she wanted to shout to them, a good man and true, but instead she sat stoically upright in her litter and stared straight ahead. She took comfort from her children—her daughter by her side, with Edmund, George, and Dickon on foot proudly flanking their mother’s vehicle.
“I AM CHARGED by Parliament to ride north and bring order there, Cis,” Richard told her in early December. November had passed uneventfully, with new appointments on the council and calm restored to the city. However, news that York’s and Salisbury’s estates were being pillaged by the northern lords in company with the duke of Exeter was causing concern in the Yorkist government. Those lords had not been present to make their pledges in October, and as long as they, together with those other foes, Somerset and Devon, were out of sight, Richard and his council could not rest easy.
Queen By Right Page 56
