by Anne O'Brien
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury
Written from Westminster Palace
Salisbury,
I trust you were satisfied last night. I thought it to be a disgraceful show of hostility on your part. A deplorable antagonism. All you did was stoke the flames even higher than the initial conflagration.
There has to be conciliation, for both our families. Are you really content with Marguerite wielding power in the name of her incapable husband?
I will work on York. You take Warwick in hand. He is your son, so you must be responsible for his recalcitrance.
I know the strain of family loyalties very well. I put it on your shoulders to heal this breach.
Your sister,
Cecily
Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, to Cecily, Duchess of York
From the Palace of Westminster
This breach is not of my making.
Look to your husband whose ambitions run amok.
Do you believe in signs and portents? Nothing like a cloud in the form of a dragon to give rise to rumours of upheaval and insurrection. No malformed clouds here, but did you know? At the precise moment that York claimed the crown for himself, a gilded crown that decorated one of the candle sconces in Westminster Hall became, by some means, mystical or otherwise, detached. It clattered to the floor, to lie, dented on one side, on the tiles.
You can imagine the reaction. The portents spoke clearly. Henry of Lancaster’s kingship had toppled, irreparably damaged, crashing to earth like the crown. It must be replaced by a stronger claimant.
I am astonished that York is not making more use of such a prediction. Is not the House of York pragmatic in all things? I should remind you that I have no belief whatsoever is such chance occurrences. Nor I suspect do you, although that will not deter you from making political use of it.
Salisbury
Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from the Palace of Westminster
Dear Kat,
As you might expect, Cecily is weathering the political storm with much aplomb. And what a tumultuous storm it is. She spends her time scurrying between one obstinate man and the next, trying to keep Warwick and Salisbury in harmony with York.
Before you take me to task, I do her a disservice. Cecily does not scurry. She retains her dignity even in the midst of a furious anger.
Cecily’s present exceptional piety is something I do not quite recognise. Nor the fact that she wears what I can only describe as the height of Court fashion with tight fur-cuffed sleeves and a surprising décolletage that our mother would have frowned upon.
I do not know what will come of all this. I am of a mind to retire to Tonbridge or Maxstoke. I like not the atmosphere here in London. It could erupt into violence at any moment.
Your unsettled sister,
Anne
I could not imagine coping with a hennin as Cecily did when she rode into London. She will send you the pattern if you ask her. I wish you well of all the pins and wires and length of veiling.
Recorded by the private hand of Cecily, Duchess of York, October 1460
Animosity. Rancour. Loathing.
Call it what you will. All as sharp as a new-edged sword, it continues amongst the Lords. I see no hope of a change of mind.
Thus Richard, depressed by disappointment, needled by his lack of judgement, goes about with a thick scowl lodged on his brow. Ned and Edmund step round him as if he were a wild boar, unpredictable, his temper chancy. His claim to the throne is rejected because he is descended from the second son, Lionel of Clarence, through the royal blood of women, Edward III’s female descendant, rather than male.
It was a weakness, as we both knew.
Had Richard not planned for this? It was the arms of Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, the fourth son, that he wore as his own when we entered London.
Another weakness that we had acknowledged. Richard’s claim through the fourth son was cast into shadow by King Henry’s legitimate descent through the third.
It is all now beyond the decision-making of the Lords. The men of law in conference at the Black Friars say that Richard must meet with King Henry and decide between them, which is just a deceitful way of abandoning the whole argument.
Henry will never abdicate. Nor will Marguerite. Nor will Richard be prepared to compromise. All Richard can hope for is to take up the position of Lord Protector again if Henry should slide into mental turmoil. But how is it possible to uncover such a rats’ nest of claim and counter-claim, then re-cover it, allowing it to linger and fester, the rats to grow in strength? A rats’ nest must be destroyed by a fierce ratter, for the good of all but the rats.
But who are we? Is our House of York a family of rats in the nest? Or are we the ratters set on to kill the vicious pests who would undermine the King’s power?
I know not the answer to this conundrum.
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham
Written from Baynard’s Castle
My dear sister Anne,
I think that you are now settled back at Tonbridge.
All, as you might guess, is at sixes and sevens. You are well out of it.
I know this will concern you since you were always anxious for King Henry’s condition. There is no need for you to have a concern for him. He is treated well, even though he may not appreciate it. Henry has been removed from Westminster to the house of the Bishop of London. Richard has visited him there. Henry will discuss nothing but his descent from the third King Edward and the state of his soul. There is no moving him.
I was surprised that Richard thought there would be. There is a streak of stubbornness in our King as wide as the sea between us and France, and twice as dangerous when he sets his mind to something. If God speaks to him, what hope does any man have of his voice being heard?
Our puissant King Henry refuses to have any interest in arrangements for his future. Instead he proclaims his dislike of the tapestries on the walls of his chambers. He says the Bishop of London is a heathen to have nothing but hunting and hawking scenes, full of blood and death. He says that he would rather have Saint Sebastian transfixed by arrows to keep him company.
I moved into Baynard’s Castle, thus reunited with the younger children, but my mind remains entirely at Westminster.
It is Richard’s rightful inheritance that we seek. You will not agree, of course. I understand why so many would deny it when the matter has never been raised before. It is opportunistic, they say; a selfish grasping of personal power, twisting the family connection to suit the mighty Duke of York. And they fear his power. But would not England sleep more easily with a strong man at the helm rather than the unreliable mind of King Henry?
Even you must give a vestige of a nod to this.
But here is a thought that I will plant in your mind. One I know you will detest. That I would be a more appropriate Queen of England than Marguerite.
There. The word had sprung for the first time from my pen. If Richard pushes his claim with any success, I will be Queen of England. Am I not Queen by right?
If that drives you to sleepless nights, don’t let it. There seems no possibility of it happening. The main problem for most of our lords is the oath that they all took to Henry. Some are more ready to abandon it than others, but even our brother Salisbury feels the oath is sacrosanct. That is, until self-interest persuades him otherwise.
Richard says that if he sees one more yellowing, curled-edged sheet of royal genealogy being passed around, he’ll send in his troops and clear the Hall of the lot of them.
Which may not be the best policy.
Your sister,
Cecily
Chapter Twelve
Queen in Waiting
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Richard, Duke of York
Written from Baynard’s Castle, October 1460
Richard.
Is there no news?
There is rumour and gossip aplenty but it would be good to hear it from the horse’s mouth, preferably an identifiably Yorkist horse. I suppose the legal men are still proving squeamish in coming to a decision.
The children would value a visit from you. They will think that you no longer exist except in my imagination. I too would value an hour in your company.
Do you want my advice? I’ll give it anyway. Remember to keep your arguments calm and mild. Nothing will be gained by becoming overheated. Accept the office of Lord Protector. Then you can keep the sheets of genealogy for another day.
I expect that you have had quite enough advice and will consign this to the fire. Do not be provoked into sending in your troops.
Cecily
Richard, Duke of York, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Westminster to Baynard’s Castle, sent by return of courier
They’ve done it, Cis.
They’ve agreed.
At last, against all the odds, since the lawyers amongst them slithered out of the decision-making like snakes heading for long grass.
It has been decided. My claim is stronger than that of Henry of Lancaster. The crown will be mine.
It is a compromise, of course. It is a compromise, but not a weighty one after all. No one was prepared to make a change in the dynasty now. After well-nigh forty years as King, it was thought that Henry was owed some loyalty, so the crown will remain his until the day of his death. And I will accept the legality of their decision.
Has Henry agreed to this? Yes. It could not be done without. Do we believe him? Will he keep his word? Was he put under pressure to agree? Certainly, but persuasion was easy enough when the Lords who visited him urged him to comply. I had no part in it. I was, whatever my enemies might claim, no heavy-handed bully.
Now that Henry has given his consent, it will become official, through an Act of Accord. My claim will be beyond question, supported by the law of the land. Is that not all we had hoped and planned for?
‘What of Marguerite?’ you may well ask.
She is ordered to return to London, and to bring her son with her. She has been assured that they will be treated well.
Does she not have an army to call on? Another crucial question.
It will have to be seen. We do not yet know if she has managed to raise a force in Scotland to augment her English followers. But I too have an army.
All we have to do now is hope they speed up the Accord and all can be settled. Then we need not worry that Marguerite will return and persuade Henry to change his mind all over again.
I will come to Baynard’s Castle when the Act is passed. Until then I still feel that all hangs in the balance and it would not be good policy for me to be absent from the centre of events.
I did not burn your letter. I am always receptive of your advice, even when I do not act on it. I did not send in my troops.
Richard
England’s Chronicle, the thirty-first day of October 1460
It is the talk of the City, from lord to merchant to the beggar outside Westminster Palace.
What is it? The return of Queen Marguerite? The sanity of King Henry? Another unsettling Love Day Festival?
The passing of the Act of Accord.
Here, for those who have slept through the last se’nnight, is the gist of what is decided.
We are pleased to announce that the King Henry, the sixth of that name and of the House of Lancaster, will remain King of England, untroubled by any claims to that position, until the day of his death.
On his death, in the fullness of time, his heir is Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York. He will be followed in that inheritance by his two sons of York, Edward, Earl of March, and Edmund, Earl of Rutland.
Edward, Prince of Wales, is thus duly disinherited.
Richard Plantagenet, as he styles himself, Duke of York, is acknowledged as Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Earl of Chester. All royal titles that are now his to claim as heir to the throne.
During the lifetime of King Henry, York will bear the title Lord Protector. He will enjoy an annual income of ten thousand pounds.
Thus it is decided. The Lords, met together in our parliament, after much fractious debate, have sworn to support and protect the Duke of York as heir to the throne.
It is now declared treason to plot against him.
Queen Marguerite has been commanded to return to London. In her predictable absence with her young son, all has been celebrated in a formal reconciliation between the King and his new heir in St Paul’s Cathedral, in the sight of God. Henry wore his crown, led in procession by the nobility of the kingdom who could persuade themselves to forgo their previous oaths of allegiance and attend. It was a mighty procession of hypocrisy. When York knelt before the King and received a blessing from the royal hands, Henry smiled. It was, you might say, an exceptional symbol of concord. Whether anyone believed it is quite another matter.
What will Duchess Cecily say to this promotion for her family? Her sons are now in direct line to the English throne. On Henry’s death she will be Queen of England.
Of even greater interest, will Queen Marguerite be touched by any spirit of concord?
We doubt it. We watch and wait in anticipation.
Oath of Accord
In the name of God, amen. I, Richard Duke of York, promise and swear by the faith and truth that I owe to Almighty God that I shall never do, agree, instigate or incite, directly or indirectly, in private or in public, nor as far as I can or shall be able, allow to be done, agreed, instigated or incited, anything which may cause or lead to the shortening of the natural life of King Henry VI, or the harm or injury of his reign or royal dignity, by violence or in any other way, against his freedom and liberty;
So help me God, and these holy gospels.
Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from Tonbridge Castle
What can I write, that you cannot already guess?
But perhaps this is so extravagant that you would deny it.
You should have been here. It was truly a sight to behold. Plantagenets and Nevilles en masse, as well as those sycophants who hang on the sleeves of families who are in the ascendant. All in celebration together of their marvellous change of fortune. All circling around Richard and Cecily. Richard is now Lord Protector, ruling England in the name of Henry, with a legal hold on the crown when Henry is dead.
How long will Henry live? By the nature of things, and the span of years, he must outlive Richard, but who’s to tell? His health is not strong. And then we’ll have King Richard with the York boys to follow. They are not short of heirs, and when they wed, we’ll have a whole warren of Plantagenets.
Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t suggest that Henry will die an untimely death. That is not what I intend to say.
I have yet to decide what I think about all this. Humphrey would have said: ‘Smile, bow, and keep your mouth shut.’ But Humphrey is dead, in the cause of King Henry.
I have to admit that Henry becomes more ineffectual by the day, his grasp on reality waning.
There is, of course, Queen Marguerite lurking on the periphery of this new scene. What she will have to say about all of this, we have yet to discover. Her voice will be loud and clear. So will that of her army, I fear.
Back to the revels. Richard was at appalling ease, urbanely confident, moving between groups, conversing, winning friends. It seems that the rifts have been healed within the family, at least to all outward show. Our brother of Salisbury was amenable, and so was our nephew of Warwick, although I suspect that Warwick has an ambition to match that of Richard. He is young and powerful. Who knows how high his sights are set?
How fortune changes. There they are, basking in regal glory. Did I rejoice? I am a widow, and so are you, our husbands done to death by this celebrating throng.
I found it wearying.
Do come and join me. I am in need of a sympathetic ear
. Cecily sees nothing but Richard crowned in gold. Are you still mourning Beaumont’s death? I doubt it. I think that you need some levity in your life.
At least these unsettling developments have taken my mind from my ailments. I have found myself no longer in need of tincture of bryony (perhaps a herb too powerful for its own good and only to be used in moderation!) to soothe my aching joints. Even so, my predilection for standing at royal receptions (whether real or false) are long gone.
Although Richard has not the inches and breadth of a King, Ned will be perfect. A golden youth from the old legends. I expect he will make a mighty King if Marguerite fails to stop him.
Your suffering sister,
Anne
Before you warn me, I am not overdosing on bryony. I know full well that it can bring a painful death for those careless enough to take too much.
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from Baynard’s Castle
Dearest Kat,
I expect Anne has written to you, bemoaning my perceived sins. Her mouth was pursed as if I had forced her to eat a dish of sour apple throughout our family gathering.
I can barely believe the change in fortune. Richard is all but King of England. All that stands between him and that power is Henry, thirty-nine years old and undoubtedly afflicted in body and mind.
God’s grace shines on us with the brilliance of a summer sun. The attainders against us and our followers are lifted. Our titles, lands and possessions restored. It is now treason to speak ill of Richard, of myself and of our children. We are truly protected.
When Richard takes the crown, I will be Queen of England.
Is it wrong of me to rejoice in our achievements?
And yet, I must be wise to the fact that not all who concur with the changes today will continue to do so tomorrow.
