She flinched as I sat down beside her. ‘I have not come to scold you, Anne,’ I said gently. ‘Poor Anicia thinks you are lost but I knew where you would be. It is quiet and peaceful up here at this time of year.’
Anne said nothing but it was my turn to flinch as she sniffed loudly and lifted her arm to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her kirtle. It was blue like the one she had worn the previous evening, but it must have been clean that morning because there was no sign of the gravy stains on the bodice which Harry had mocked so cruelly. However both sleeves already bore evidence of the fact that she carried no kerchief and had used them as a substitute several times. I sighed inwardly. As so often in her company I felt irritation when I should have felt love and compassion. It irked me that Anne showed little sign of growing into an elegant and graceful lady. Having inherited my father’s height and my mother’s poise I freely admit that I found it hard having a daughter who was short, plump and gauche. I comforted myself with the thought that she was all Plantagenet and Richard, too, had been shy and sturdy when he first came to Raby as a boy. Somehow, however, I could not penetrate Anne’s timid, mousey shell to find the sweet, sensitive girl beneath. Worse, I knew that Harry Holland would never do so either.
‘You are nearly nine, Anne. It is not too young to be married, you know. Your father and I were pledged when I was more or less your age.’ I tried to speak with encouraging cheerfulness. ‘You will not have to live with Harry for years yet.’
‘I do not want to live with him ever!’ Anne’s voice was shrill and full of panic. ‘He is mad. You said so yourself, my lady mother.’
I chastised myself for making my muttered comment the previous evening, even in a whisper. ‘He is still a boy,’ I said gently, ‘but he thinks he is already a man. He is confused. He will not stay angry. By the time you are fourteen or fifteen he will be mature and in control of himself and meanwhile you can look forward to being a duchess and having beautiful clothes. You like beautiful things do you not, Anne? Those shoes for instance.’
She stopped hugging the gold shoes and held them out to admire them. They were fashionably but not exaggeratedly pointed at the toes, with red laces tipped with gold aiglets, and the soft leather uppers were stamped under their covering of gold leaf with a pattern of wheatears. They were costly items which Richard had ordered in London for her and they had arrived in his baggage the previous day. They must have been delivered to the nursery that morning and she obviously treasured them or why would she have brought them up the mount? I had not the heart to tell her that the wheatear was Harry Holland’s personal device, the badge his retinue would wear once he came into his Exeter inheritance. With the marriage already arranged when he ordered them, Richard must have specified that the symbol should be used on the shoes to mark Anne’s new status.
‘They are beautiful,’ she agreed. ‘I will wear them this evening and thank my lord father when I see him after dinner. But I cannot thank him for the marriage. Harry is not nice and he hates us. I have heard him talking to his horse when he grooms him in the stables. You should hear what he says, Mother; then you would know he is mad.’
I shook my head sorrowfully. ‘People do talk nonsense to animals sometimes. They do not necessarily mean what they say. Your father has your best interests at heart, Anne. As well as thanking him for the shoes, I expect you to also thank him for arranging a great marriage for you. There are only five dukes in the kingdom and the other four are married. You are a very lucky young lady. You must prepare yourself for the wedding. There is no more to be said.’
A shutter seemed to close in my daughter’s red-rimmed eyes and, knew I had not succeeded in giving her any reassurance. ‘Yes, my lady mother,’ she said dully.
A week later, Anne stood in the nave of the collegiate church stiff and immobile, like a wooden doll, albeit one dressed like a duchess in a gown of gold tissue and a mantle trimmed with ermine, her tawny hair hanging limply from a bridal coronet. No matter how hard Anicia tried, it could not be made to curl or look lustrous. Given the fabric and colour of her wedding gown, there had been no objection to her wearing the treasured gold slippers and so she was able to stare down at them throughout the ceremony, taking comfort from the gleaming tooled leather. This kept her eyes modestly downcast and led to whispered comments among the congregation about the dignified deportment of so young a girl. For once I felt proud of my little daughter, particularly after she showed no reaction when, after the joining of hands, Harry flung hers away as if it had scorched him.
The bridegroom had refused to don the new red quilted satin doublet which had been provided for him and appeared in the plain brown woollen jacket and hose he had been wearing when he was marched off to his tower chamber a fortnight before, garments which showed all the stains of sweat and wear inflicted on them since. It was clear to all in the church that the putative Duke of Exeter was making no concessions to a union which, despite concerted efforts to persuade him otherwise, he steadfastly continued to repudiate.
The ceremony was performed by the Master of the College who doggedly pursued the necessary declarations and vows, accepting the bridegroom’s wild protests and mutterings as if they were the appropriate responses and ignoring the fact that two armed guards stood at the young man’s shoulders with a hand on each elbow in case he should try to make a bolt for it. In consideration of the bride’s youth, the nuptial kiss was declared inappropriate but in any case it was unlikely that the bridegroom could have been prevailed upon to cooperate. When the wedding group processed under the screen into the choir for the mass, a soaring anthem sung by the college choristers covered the sound of Harry’s strident objections to being frog-marched along with it. Behind the unhappy couple and their two armed attendants, Richard and I walked stony-faced, decked out in full ducal regalia, our gold coronets sparkling with rubies and sapphires and the trains of our crimson velvet mantles carried by pages in liveries of murrey and blue. Above us rows of banners hid the scaffolding which allowed the masons access to work on the intricate stone vaulting of the ceiling and, I held my breath as I realized that, as well as displaying the York emblems of the White Rose and the Falcon and Fetterlock, some of the banners also showed the Red Rose of Lancaster and, revealingly, should Anne have glanced up, the Exeter Wheatear. However, her eyes remained firmly fixed on her golden shoes.
At the wedding feast a flower-decked canopy did much to disguise the presence of the burly guards standing behind the bridal couple but even so the two youngsters hardly looked like newlyweds. Jaw jutting defiantly and submitting the assembled guests to a baleful stare, Harry deliberately ignored Anne, who pretended not to notice because on her other side Edward kept her entertained playing a spying game based on the animals to be spotted woven into the brightly coloured hunting tapestries that covered the walls of the great hall, a favourite pastime among the children whenever they were allowed in there. The customary formality of York feasts had been suspended for what should have been a joyous family occasion and guests were free to talk and laugh and move about as they wished, enjoying the continuous flow of food and wine, constant music from minstrels in the gallery and riotous interruptions supplied by fools, tumblers and mummers. The only person who failed to take any pleasure in this entertainment was the bridegroom, who remained isolated and largely ignored except when toasts were made to his health, gestures he refused to acknowledge. On a day when he should have been enjoying centre stage, receiving the congratulations and good wishes of his friends, young Harry, Duke of Exeter, sat ignored and excluded, a sad and brooding figure smouldering with resentment.
I was seated alongside my brother Hal of Salisbury, who had travelled down from Yorkshire for the event. He would doubtless also use it as an opportunity to confer with Richard over the situation at court. Never a man of social vitality, Hal made a cheerless dinner companion. ‘I hope you can win him round, Cis,’ he murmured, indicating the slouched figure of the bridegroom. ‘He is a danger to himself and others in this fram
e of mind.’
I rolled my eyes in despair. ‘I fear he may be a lost cause,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘We seem to have no lines of communication. Richard thinks he will get over his resentment but I believe he grows daily more vindictive against York. I believe we have done Anne a dreadful turn in making this marriage.’
Hal shrugged and took a thoughtful gulp of his wine before producing a predictably male reaction to my misgivings. ‘There is no denying that it is a brilliant match though, Cicely. Richard has endowed her well no doubt and young Harry will need funds when he comes of age because his estates are woefully tied up in trusts and obligations. His mother commands a substantial portion and could live for many years yet and she has quite a young daughter – another Anne I believe – who must also command a dowry. There is talk of her marrying our kinsman Lord John Neville, Westmorland’s heir.’
I visualized the curious little boy I had encountered at Brancepeth all those years ago and realized with a jolt that he must be a man by now. ‘Harry’s sister to marry Jack Neville? Are you sure?’
‘No.’ Hal regarded me quizzically. ‘As I said, there is merely talk. Why, does it matter?’
I hesitated. Any mention of that branch of my family always stirred the murky waters of my memory. My bitter dispute with Richard still rankled and, unbidden, I had a sudden recall of Sir John’s very different attitude towards love and marriage. ‘I suppose not,’ I said, turning away to break off a corner from a manchet loaf in order to hide the tears that sprang to my eyes; a rush of yearning for a different life, a different love. But these were futile thoughts. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. ‘Do they still plague you, the Westmorland Nevilles?’
Hal gave a cynical laugh. ‘Plague is the right word. Their thugs descend without warning on any corner of my estates. They raid grain stores, rustle cattle, trample crops – anything to prevent my tenants leading a peaceful, profitable existence. And every time they attack they leave a proclamation nailed to a tree or a door denouncing my right to Middleham and Sheriff Hutton. I must tell you that I bitterly regret our mother signing Slingsby over to Sir Thomas Neville. Remember your wedding boon? It provided Westmorland’s two bandit brothers with a base right in the heart of my territory from which to orchestrate their campaign of attrition.’
‘Sir John Neville is involved?’ I hardly dared to ask the question lest I give myself away but the sudden urge for news of my erstwhile lover was irresistible.
‘Involved? He is the brains behind it all. His hothead nephew – Jack you called him? – is a wild young man but Sir John is the strategist who pulls his strings. And he keeps my lawyers permanently snarled up in litigation. He sues over everything from a lost cow to a park license. He even disputes my right to be Justice of the Forest beyond Trent, a hereditary post the king granted me four years ago. Sir John maintains that it should have gone to Westmorland as the senior earl. You can imagine what the king said to that.’
I gave a grunt of laughter and adopted a regal voice, grateful to lighten the tone. ‘“I can grant whatever I like to whomever I like!” Only I expect he put it more gracefully and in Latin.’ I laid a conciliatory hand on Hal’s tastefully dagged sleeve. ‘It is vexing though, is it not, this continuous battle over the inheritance? It casts a shadow over our father’s great achievements.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, to a degree, but at least it gives the knights in my retinue something to do. Now that there is little fighting in France the young bloods need action elsewhere to test their mettle. When I leave here I have decided to take a force north into Scotland. The Scots have attacked Alnwick and they need to be taught a lesson. As usual I have had no directive from the council so I will be acting on my own initiative.’
I was shocked. ‘But that is anarchy surely? Does the king not punish such arbitrary action?’
Hal snorted derisively. ‘He does not notice it, Cicely. With his nose in his books and his attention focused on his college foundations, he is blind to what goes on. Henry should have been a monk rather than a king. I swear he sees more of his confessor than his queen. Even though she has beauty enough to dazzle any man, there is no sign of an heir and that is what England most needs.’
‘Richard says Queen Margaret is acquiring great power because of the king’s indifference to it.’
Hal scowled furiously. ‘That is true, much too much power – especially for a Frenchwoman. Sometimes I am sure she does not even consult the king before expressing what she calls his “will” to the council. We are not well served from the throne.’
His voice had dropped on this last remark and I caught my breath. I had never known my cautious brother to lower his guard enough to utter what, to all intent, amounted to treason. Hal was a staunch Lancastrian, just as our father had been, but it was clear he was rapidly losing faith in the present incumbents. ‘Why do you not voice your misgivings in the Royal Council, brother, instead of taking unilateral action?’ I asked.
He gave me an exasperated look. ‘Like Richard, I have no access to the council, Sister. Somerset and Suffolk have complete control and we are not invited to participate. So I simply do the job I was appointed to do, which is police the border with Scotland. If the borders of the kingdom are not defended, the king would have no kingdom to rule.’
‘Have you and Richard discussed this?’
‘Of course we have. While the king allows two rogue dukes to rule his roost, all we can do is bide our time and protect our own interests. That is why I remain up in the north and Richard will be sailing for Ireland.’ His gaze went to Harry, who was playing some strategy game with little balls of bread on the table cloth, seemingly lost in his own unfathomable world. ‘And he would do well to take his loose cannon of a son-in-law with him. The insurgencies of the wild Irish clans will give the lad some action on which to vent his very obvious frustrations.’
One of Harry’s bread balls rolled off the trestle and he dived beneath the cloth to retrieve it, emerging with a loud grunt and a sudden burst of scornful laughter. ‘Ha! Ha, ha ha!’ He pointed an accusing finger at Anne, who cowered back towards Edward. ‘Look at her – she is a fraud. She says she does not want to be Duchess of Exeter any more than I want her to be but she is already wearing my livery!’ He disappeared under the trestle once more and returned with one of Anne’s golden shoes in his fist. ‘Here, look! See the pattern?’ Harry waved the shoe under Anne’s nose, almost hitting her with it. ‘Those are wheatears, you ignorant cow! When I am duke every one of my retainers will wear the wheatear badge and people will tremble at the sight of them. The wheatear will trample the fields of York and burn the crops and I shall laugh as the flames rise.’
Anne flushed bright red and retaliated as only a furious eight-year-old girl could do, without thought for dignity or decorum. She jumped down from her seat, struggling to move the heavy throne-like chair and took Harry completely by surprise as she snatched the shoe from his hand and waved it in his face. ‘No!’ she shouted shrilly. ‘My lord father will not let you! You are horrible, Harry, horrible! And I hate you and your beastly wheatear!’ Swiftly she crouched down, pulled the other shoe off her foot and threw both of them, one after another, over the high-table where they tumbled down the dais steps. ‘Hateful, hideous shoes! I shall never wear them again.’
20
Coldharbour Inn, London
& Westminster Palace
Early October 1448
Cicely
Harry started shouting the minute we rode into the great courtyard of Coldharbour Inn. Our baggage train had preceded us and our chamberlain had already allocated accommodation, allowing the servants to unload the carts so that all should be ready for our arrival.
‘I do not see why the snivelling sons of York should be housed in the apartments where I always stayed when my father was alive! Those chambers are meant for the Exeter heir. They are my rooms, not Edward’s or Edmund’s!’
‘You are housed with the rest of the young squires and henchmen in t
he south wing, Harry.’ Richard swung down from his horse and made a determined effort to remain even-tempered in the face of this outburst from his troublesome ward. ‘My sons are young and housed close to their parents, as is proper. Of course if you wish to share Edward and Edmund’s quarters, you are very welcome to do so but I am sure you will find the activities of the henchmen more to your taste than the lessons of two young boys struggling with Latin declensions and Greek poetry.’
‘Ugh!’ Harry shuddered. ‘The boys can learn Latin and Greek in any dark corner. Those are my chambers!’ He confronted the chamberlain belligerently and pointed at the tower which flanked one gable-end of the sprawling mansion, near to where the ducal apartments were located. ‘Have my baggage taken there.’
The chamberlain remained stony-faced and waited for his lord to make pronouncement.
‘No, they will remain in the south wing, Harry,’ said Richard mildly. ‘Where you choose to sleep is your affair; in the stable straw if you wish, but your belongings will be where the chamberlain has ordered, as will those of Edward and Edmund.’
All this took place before I had even dismounted and I watched as Harry stamped off in high dudgeon, leaving his horse untended. In due course a stable-lad would take care of it but I wondered what kind of disorganized household there would be at Coldharbour Inn when it reverted to Harry’s ownership. Once again I felt pity for Anne, who would be its chatelaine. Would she manage to introduce some sanity and order into their life? Personally, I would not be sad to seek alternative London accommodation for I found this inn draughty, damp and smelly; its walls seemed to suck up the stench of decay and detritus off the River Thames beside which it stood. Wearily I accepted the help of a groom to dismount from my palfrey. I was now over six months’ pregnant and resented Richard’s insistence that I make the four-day trip to London. He had been summoned back to court by the king to receive his official credentials as Royal Lieutenant of Ireland and wanted us to make it a family appearance. He did not say so but I presumed his aim was for the court and council to receive the full impact of the thriving York dynasty, compared with the barren marriage of the king and queen.
Red Rose, White Rose Page 18
