Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  As light began to fade there was torrential rain, and a blustering wind that roared across the low land from the south. The road was such a quagmire that Jon eventually felt he had no choice but to order a halt at nearby Wyberton. He did not wish to do this because Judith was in the village, but he told himself that she was confined to the cottage where she had once lived with her parents and older sister, but where she now lived alone. She had been forbidden to venture anywhere near the castle, which stood in a moated enclosure half a mile to the east of the village.

  And so Cicely returned to the fortress where Richard’s son had been born, and where she had once been branded a Yorkist witch by the trickery of Judith’s elder sister, Lucy. Across the marshland beyond the castle lay the dangerously tidal River Witham, beyond which, only thirteen miles as the crow flew, was Friskney.

  There was no word of plague in the area, or indeed in Boston, although it was learned that the fishing town of Grimsby was still affected. Cicely could only pray that whatever ailed Leo, it was not witchcraft or the true plague, just something that would run its course and permit him to recover.

  That night, as the rain continued, Mary came to Cicely. ‘May I speak with you, my lady?’

  ‘Of course, Mary.’ Cicely had just lit another candle, which she placed on a table so the flame illuminated her face from below.

  ‘Do you remember I told you that when you burned the charm at Greenwich, you not only broke its power but made it impossible for Judith to overlook you again?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  Mary continued. ‘There is another way to destroy her powers forever, to make it certain that she can never again turn her evil upon anyone. I have said it before, my lady. She has to die and by the same means she herself has used upon others.’

  Cicely recoiled. ‘Die? I know what you said before, but—’

  ‘It has to be, my lady, or she will continue to harm others, including Master Leo and Sir Jon.’

  ‘What are you saying, Mary?’

  ‘That possessing another’s hair gives great power. She cannot be allowed to continue.’ The maid placed something on the table in the pool of candlelight. It was another charm, just like the one Cicely had found, only this one had a roughly gathered knot of flaxen hair tied to it.

  Judith’s hair! Cicely stared at it. ‘How did you get—?’

  ‘I collected it from the floor when you struggled with her at the top of the stairs in London, my lady. I knew its value and collected it, in case it might someday be useful. Well, it is useful now. She must die, and soon. Her hair and this entire charm must be consumed by fire, and you must toss it there because she has tried to kill your baby and works her wickedness against your husband because he has chosen you. There is power in you now because she failed to harm you with her magic. When she sees her hair and these other things ablaze in the fire, she will lose all her skills and strength. She will die within moments, my lady, and then everyone against whom she has set herself will be freed. Those others of whom we do not even know.’

  Cicely gazed at her, wishing she did not believe every unbelievable word.

  ‘I will help you, my lady. We will go to her cottage and force it upon her. There will be two of us; together we will be too strong for her.’

  ‘But will you not be at risk?’

  ‘Oh, no, my lady, for I found and destroyed her spell against me a long time ago, and Lucy’s before her. You and I are safe from her, which is why we can do this.’

  ‘You appear to know a great deal about these things, Mary Kymbe.’

  ‘I do, my lady. My aunt has taught me well, and one day I will return to Friskney as her successor.’

  Cicely took a very deep breath. ‘But how does Judith even know that Leo is my child?’

  ‘I have learned that one of the ladies in attendance at the birth was suspicious, my lady. She expressed a view that the dead child in the cot—my brother’s child—was a changeling, and that when Tom and my aunt left here before dawn, they took your living child with them. It is a whisper, no more, but Judith Talby is known to have spoken of it with this lady. Then, when she was at Friskney with Sir Jon, she must have taken some of Master Leo’s hair when it was cut.’

  There was such a ring of truth about it that Cicely began to pace, the draught setting the candle swaying. Then her mind was made up. ‘When can we do it, Mary?’

  ‘Now.’

  Cicely’s heart seemed to falter. ‘Now?’ she whispered.

  Mary nodded. ‘We can slip out to the village in the dark and the rain, and go to her cottage.’

  ‘Then let us to it, before my courage fails.’

  The wind and rain were relentless, and both women were soaked through, their hems and shoes thick with mud, as they entered Wyberton village. They had left secretly, on foot, because to take horses would have been to draw attention, and Jon would soon have prevented them from their purpose.

  It was a cold night, and the wind tore wisps of smoke from chimneys, including Judith’s. So there would be a fire onto which to toss the charm. The Talby cottage was a little aside from the other dwellings. Candlelight glowed in the single window, where a piece of cloth had been draped to conceal the room inside. It was a small, ivy-covered dwelling, very low, the eaves overhanging and dripping profusely.

  The scent of rain-soaked herbs assailed the nostrils of the two women as they paused in the little front garden before approaching the door. There was an unpleasant atmosphere about the place, as if something was hidden there, something to be feared.

  Cicely shivered, bracing herself for the coming minutes, and Mary looked at her. ‘Are you ready, my lady?’ She took the charm from her purse. ‘Remember, she must see the charm and know exactly what it is, and then you must throw it into the fire. I will see to it that she cannot rescue it. But it must be thrown by your hand, my lady. So come, let us attend to what should have been done some time ago.’

  Giving Cicely the charm, Mary went forward to thrust the door open without warning. Cicely followed her swiftly into the single room beyond, swept along by her bitterness and need for revenge. The room was shabby and cluttered with all manner of things that a witch would need: dried herbs, jars, pots, dishes, and caskets, and something that bubbled and stank in a pan over the small fire. A wooden ladder led up to a small gallery, where presumably there would be a straw bed.

  Judith had been kneeling by the fire, using a poker to force something small, dead and furry into the heart of the flames, but she leapt to her feet in alarm as the two women burst in. Seeing Mary, her eyes sharpened warily, because she knew whose niece she was. Then, recognizing Cicely, she backed away, brandishing the poker.

  ‘Get out!’ she cried.

  Mary advanced. ‘Your time has come, Judith Talby. You will do no more evil, threaten no more lives.’

  ‘You think you can overcome me?’

  ‘Oh, yes, because I have been taught by my aunt, who has knowledge.’ Mary glanced at Cicely and nodded.

  Cicely held up the charm so that Judith could not help but see exactly what it was.

  The witch’s eyes widened and she swallowed, but then she leapt forward, swinging the poker as she tried to reach Cicely to get the charm.

  ‘Throw it, my lady! Throw it now!’ Mary cried.

  But Cicely froze, incapable of doing anything. Triumph grimaced across Judith’s face, until Mary hurled herself at her, shoving her forcefully off balance and then dragging Cicely towards the fire, prising her fingers open and jolting her hand so powerfully that the charm was catapulted into the fire.

  Judith began to scream and scrambled to rescue it, but it was already curling up and disintegrating into a glittering cascade. Still screaming, the witch collapsed to her knees, whimpering.

  Cicely stared at her, riveted with both dread and revulsion, but Mary was relentless as she bent to whisper in Judith’s ear. ‘You are no more, witch! You will go to torment and damnation, to burn in Hell for all eternity. I do not wish any pi
ty on your evil self. The world is rid of you, and I do not know a single soul who will mourn your passing.’

  Judith summoned the last of her draining strength to turn terrible eyes upon Cicely. ‘Your husband and child will die, my lady, and I will have them then, wherever I may be.’ Her voice was weak but filled with infinite hatred and menace. ‘Jon Welles is mine, he will always be mine!’

  The words banished Cicely’s physical imprisonment. ‘You will not have anyone, witch-hag. I have no child, and Sir Jon Welles is my husband—my loving husband!— and he always will be. He will lie with me again tonight as we celebrate your death, and he will be so ardent, virile and rewarding that you could only have ever dreamed of him that way.’

  But Judith was already beyond hearing. Her fleeting defiance evaporated before their eyes, and she seemed to shrivel, although Cicely knew it was not so, unless it was her evil spirit that shrivelled. Then, as the last of the sparks were scattered, she sank slowly to one side and lay still, her eyes open and staring.

  Mary calmly prodded the witch with her foot. ‘She is dead,’ she remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘We have actually killed her?’

  ‘No, my lady, we merely turned her own spell upon her.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘We must leave now, my lady. She will be found soon enough, but there must be no trace of us. Raise your hood fully, to hide your face.’ Mary pulled her own hood up again.

  ‘She . . . she cannot simply have died! Not in those few seconds!’

  ‘She intended you and your son to die slowly, wretchedly and horribly. She died with merciful swiftness. That is the only difference. There is a charm somewhere that is directed against Sir Jon, and it has been killing him gradually, day by slow day. It cannot work now because she is dead, but if she still lived, we would need to find it to save him. He believes, you see, and while that is so, her evil will affect him. She has probably placed such a charm wherever she has been with him. There will certainly be one here at Wyberton. Now, though, he will start to improve, and then return to his true self again. So do not feel any guilt for this heartless hag, my lady, she does not deserve it.’

  Mary hurried Cicely out into the darkness and rain, and they trudged back to the castle through mud and mire. Cicely was alternately exultant and frightened, and had to remind herself over and over that she and Mary had saved Jon and Leo, and probably a number of Judith Talby’s other victims. They were glad to reach shelter once more, and were able to slip in past the gateway guards the same way they had left. Most guards were less aware in the hours of darkness, often pausing to talk to each other. That was when two shadows moved stealthily past them.

  After washing and changing, and seeing Cicely warmly seated before the fire, Mary went down to the kitchens for some hot milk. When she returned, she found her mistress fast asleep.

  Cicely hurried to Jon’s apartment early the following morning. The stormy weather had drifted away to the west, but clouds remained. They were to leave for Friskney immediately after breaking their fast, and could reasonably hope to arrive at journey’s end before darkness fell again. But before then, she needed to see how Jon was. Please let him be feeling better!

  He was surprised by her visit, but readily allowed her to be admitted. ‘To what do I owe this singular honour, Lady Welles?’ he enquired, turning for one of several attendants to adjust the shoulders of his black leather doublet.

  She gazed at him, her bluebell gown a brilliant splash of colour in the sunless room. ‘How are you today, Jon?’

  He had begun to reach for a sealed, unopened letter on the table, but paused. ‘Well . . . to be truthful, I feel better than I have. Almost as if a weight has been lifted.’

  Seeing the tears of relief in her eyes, he immediately dismissed those around him. ‘Cicely?’

  ‘I have been so worried for you, Jon, and now, at last, I know you will soon be well again.’

  ‘Sweetheart, while I am flattered that you still care, I have to point out that one small improvement does not mean complete recovery.’

  ‘But it does, Jon.’ Suddenly she knew where to look for the charm the hag had set against him. Hastening to his bed, she looked up beneath the tester, and there it was, as ugly and malevolent as the others, this time with a lock of Jon’s hair. She beckoned him. ‘See? Behold, the reason for your ill health. Mistress Talby’s handiwork. The bead helped you a little, but it is the ending of the magic that has released you.’

  The letter forgotten, he came quickly to look, and snatched it down. ‘Dear God!’ he breathed, and then looked at her. ‘Ending?’

  ‘Yes. There will be other such charms at your other residences, but they cannot work now. Dame Fortune did not forsake you after all, because if I had not fought with the Talby creature at the top of those stairs, and pulled out some of her hair, she would still be casting her evil upon you.’ Cicely put a hand on his sleeve. ‘She is dead, Jon.’

  He gazed at her, lips parted. ‘What do you mean? How—?’

  ‘She was frightened out of her own life because her own craft was turned upon her.’

  ‘Can you explain a little, sweetheart?’ He threw the spell on to the fire, and then ushered her to sit on the side of the bed, where he joined her. ‘Now then, remember that I am a mere man, and need to be spoken to in simple language.’

  She told him everything that had happened since they arrived at Wyberton. ‘So you are free again, Jon,’ she finished. ‘She is the weight that has been lifted from you.’

  Jon regarded her. ‘Jesu, lady, I hardly know you.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you do. You know there is nothing I would not do to protect those I love. Which would seem to include you, sir, because I am certainly protecting you, in more ways than you can possibly imagine.’ No sooner had the words been uttered than she wished them back in her mouth again, for he was upon them in a moment.

  ‘Right, I will have this from you, my lady. What is it that you are so loath to explain?’

  ‘I do not want to say, Jon.’

  ‘I am prepared to stay here in Wyberton for however long it takes to loosen your pretty tongue.’

  ‘You would not! I have to be in Friskney!’

  ‘Test me.’

  She looked away. ‘You will not like what I say.’

  ‘Allow me to decide.’

  ‘Very well. I did not go to Henry’s bed voluntarily, but because he made threats to Jack’s life. And to yours.’

  He gazed at her as if he had not understood.

  ‘Did you hear, Jon?’

  ‘My nephew has been forcing himself upon you? I wish him in Hades, his fucking cock on fire and a red-hot poker up his tight little arse!’

  It would have been amusing had he not meant every word. Agitated and upset, he paced up and down, running a hand through his hair. ‘Sweet God above, Cicely, why did you not tell me?’

  ‘To what purpose? To bring about the very reaction I see before me now? But perhaps when Henry was within a few minutes’ reach? To have you set about him and end up imprisoned for treason? Perhaps executed? Oh, yes, I should have told you that, Jon. I was trying to protect you, not see you dead of misplaced honour!’

  ‘Misplaced? Mother of Jesu, Cicely, I am your husband and he is my fucking nephew! He shares my blood and has been blackmailing you into submitting to his filthy desires!’

  ‘You may think of yourself as my husband, but I think of myself as your wife. I was able to protect you, and so I did. I have no sword or dagger, no armour or warhorse,

  I have my body, and I know how to use it.’

  ‘I will not argue with that.’

  ‘You know I have not been punished in his bed. I am prey to my appetites, Jon, and cannot help but find pleasure with a lover who knows as much as he does. But even had he been a perverted monster, I would still have gone to him to shield you. And Jack. You both mean so much to me. I would lie in the Devil’s own arms if I had to.’

  He closed his eyes, and then exh
aled slowly. ‘Oh, Cicely . . .’

  She got up to go to him. ‘Hold me, Jon. Tell me you understand.’

  His arms moved swiftly around her and he held her tightly, his lips moving against her hair. ‘I understand, sweetheart, of course I understand, but that does not mean I have to like it. Does Jack know?’

  ‘Yes, and likes it as little as you. I made him promise not to do or say anything. I begged him to let me do all I could for him, and for you. I wrung that promise from him, Jon, as I now wish to wring it from you. Besides, it is over. With Henry. He hates the very sight of me, and may well hate you as much. You may find yourself banished to the wilds of Lincolnshire for evermore.’

  ‘First he fucks you, then he hits you, and I am to do nothing?’

  ‘Yes. Leave it be, Jon. He is not worth your life. Please, sweetheart. If you wish me on my knees to beg you, then I will.’

  ‘If you are on your knees before me, sweetheart, I will be the one begging.’ He smiled.

  ‘And I would gladly grant your plea. You know that.’

  ‘Dear God, you have me rigid just to think of it.’ He released her and moved away to lean his hands upon a table and gaze at nothing in particular.

  ‘You will not confront Henry, will you?’ she pressed anxiously.

  ‘No, sweetheart. Or Jack de la Pole,’ he added.

  ‘Does my affection for Jack make a difference to your regard for him?’

  ‘You know me better than that. I will be honest, my loyalty to Henry was wavering before hearing what you have said today. Now I waver much more. Before I left Bolingbroke to find you at Huntingdon, I received word from Henry that I was to raise ten thousand men from London and the surrounding counties, and rally them to his standards. I can raise them without difficulty, but I now find it very difficult indeed to think of rallying them to him. There is a choice to be made, between conscience and principle on one side, and family loyalty on the other. I now bear such a grudge against my nephew that I do not know if I can support him.’