The Queen's Rival
Page 21
Take a capon, scald it and draw it clean. Smite it in two down the middle.
Take a pig, scald it and draw it clean in the same manner and smite it also.
Take a needle and thread and sew the fore part of the capon to the after part of the pig. And the fore part of the pig to the hinder part of the capon.
Stuff them as you would stuff a pig.
Put them on a spit and roast them.
When they are done enough, glaze them with yolks of eggs and powder of ginger and saffron and juice of parsley.
Serve it forth for a royal meal to impress all.
If it does not, they do not deserve to be invited!
Duchess Cecily arranges the Year’s Mind Mass of the late Duke of York in St Paul’s Cathedral, thirty-first of December 1461
I arranged it all. It was my right. Wrapped in grief, I left no stone unturned to honour the name of Richard, Duke of York, England’s heir.
We gathered in the nave of St Paul’s Cathedral, a large congregation of the highest blood in the land, our purpose to process slowly, with great dignity, making our way from the nave, through the chancel towards the high altar. Our garments were dark in mourning but nothing could hide the richness of satin and velvet, or the sigh of the costly cloth as it brushed the painted tiles. Jewels on breast and finger began to throw off their iridescent colour as we approached the banks of candles. All glittering like stars in an evening sky. The spice of incense enveloped us, assuring us of God’s presence at this most holy of events.
My sister Anne stood on one side, a stalwart support. On the other was Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, as dry and austere as a winter rush, wrapped around in fur and dark veiling, newly come from her lair in the north to give me the support of her presence. My relief at such intimacy from my sisters was palpable.
‘Impressive!’ Katherine observed softly as we came to a halt before the bier.
‘It is meant to be,’ I said.
‘Will you wed again?’ she asked, inconsequentially, as those following shuffled in the cold to achieve the best position.
‘Hush!’ said Anne.
I ignored the question.
‘I will not marry. I am past the age of desiring love and affection or even male companionship,’ Katherine mused. ‘Nor am I willing to be dangled before some fortune-seeking lord who thinks I will soon die, allowing him to get his hands on my Mowbray lands. How disappointed he would be, since they were granted to me for my lifetime only. Besides, three husbands is enough for any woman.’
‘Who knows what the future will hold, for any of us?’ I said, holding back the despair.
‘I am too old for searching for the future and I am too old to weep,’ Katherine continued, at least sotto voce. ‘The next tears I shed will, I swear, be on my deathbed.’
Which lugubrious statement cast us all into gloom, as dense as the church beyond the orbit of the candles. Behind me, in a neat row, had gathered my children Meg and George and Diccon, the boys cowed into stern behaviour. Then my daughters: Anne, Duchess of Exeter; Elizabeth, Duchess of Suffolk. Behind them, a powerful sheltering force, stood Ned, King Edward the Fourth of England, who had in his compassion allowed me to walk at the head of this solemn procession.
Who would begrudge me such pre-eminence?
On this day we would hold the formal funeral rites to commemorate the deaths one year ago in Wakefield, and the scanty funerals held so far away in Pontefract. But now the rites would be repeated with the ostentation that our dead deserved.
I knelt.
I heard the soft hush and rustle and murmur as the congregation followed my example. Then the Requiem Mass began the Year’s Mind to bring the beloved dead back into our presence.
‘How much did you spend on this?’ Anne whispered.
‘One hundred and fifty pounds on the candles. As for the rest, I know not,’ I replied with a frown to quench her inappropriate nosiness. ‘And I would be grateful if you could preserve a melancholy aspect rather than tallying up the outgoings!’
The hearse, black-draped in a pall, sat before the altar. The bodies were still interred at Pontefract but today we would bring their memory forth into the vast space of this cathedral. Candles burned to make of it a living brightness in the shadows of the arches on either side. The solemnity of death pressed down on our shoulders, the finality of death. Not even the violent clap of wings, from a pair of pigeons trapped within the vast space, would draw attention from our purpose.
Hands clasped around my rosary, I concentrated my whole mind on that empty bier as if I could indeed conjure up Richard’s body into my presence. Incense filling my mind, drenching my emotions with holy power. As if it was possible, in that moment, Richard was still with me, granting me permission at last to experience more than emotion and distress. I could almost feel the light touch of his hand on my veil as I bent my head, the flutter of his breath against my cheek.
One day, one day not too distant, I would have his remains removed from Pontefract. He did not deserve to remain there.
With final prayers of remembrance, it was over, the spirits of the dead once more dispatched from the realms of the living. The congregation departed, silently, soft-shoed, as a young priest came forward and began to douse the candles. The great building settled into its habitual shadows around me where I remained kneeling, looking back at those years of my marriage. Despite his temper, his faults, it was possible for a woman to love such a man with her heart, her mind, her body.
I, Cecily Neville, had been that woman.
I stayed until the final candle flickered out.
‘God be with you, Richard. And God be with you, Edmund. You will live in my heart until its beat stops. May your souls rest on His bosom.’
The light had gone out of my world too, but perhaps it could be relit. I had been wrong to consider shutting myself away. Alone, I stood and made my way to the entrance to the chancel where Ned waited for me. How he shone, gilded with power, even brighter than the jewelled chain that lay across his dark robes.
‘It was well done,’ he said in confirmation.
‘Yes.’
He took my hand.
‘We have much to do. You and I.’
‘Do I have a part in it?’
‘Of a surety. Are you not the King’s Mother?’
Ned smiled at me, and it was his father’s smile. It left a warmth around my heart, where all had been dark and cold. I had a new life to construct.
Chapter Eighteen
The King Needs a Wife
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Edward, King of England
Written from Baynard’s Castle, 1463
My son,
This is become an urgent matter since you appear to be ignoring it.
Do not shelve this letter before you have read more than the first line, under the premise that it is only from your mother and so can be ignored while you attend to important kingly business. This is important. It is my duty to advise you, and your duty as a son and the King to at least consider my suggestions.
On the subject of a wife, as you know, I am of the opinion that it is time that you took a bride. Have I not broached this subject on numerous occasions, even on the day of your coronation? Now that you are King of England I advise that you choose a lady with exceptional connections to further an alliance with one of our European neighbours.
We need allies. The Lancastrians may have been defeated at Towton but no man of sense would regard their threat as moribund. Queen Marguerite will never acknowledge the loss of the throne for her son. From my past acquaintance with her, she will already be sounding out the French King for an alliance. Probably in the form of an invading army.
Thus, to return to your marriage.
Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, who was kind enough to shelter George and Diccon through the terrible times, has a niece, the daughter of the Duke of Bourbon. She will make an admirable contract with a powerful neighbour.
Would you have any objection to her as a wife? It w
ill be a popular marriage with the merchants in the City of London who would benefit from Burgundian trade. The lady is also said to be very beautiful, if that is of importance to you. From the rumours that ever circulate, you, my son, have an eye for a fair face. Every comely face that comes within your orbit, from kitchen maid to high nobility.
I think that we should open negotiations. You need a son and heir to the crown. A legitimate heir. If the rumours are only half true you could now have a handful of bastards being raised in your kitchens. I would advise discretion and discernment in your choice of female company. Kitchen maids are not appropriate. A wife would solve the problem.
Your father always treated the female members of his household with respect.
With my brother’s reinterment at Bisham Priory, I am reminded that your father’s body still remains in isolation in Pontefract. This should not be. I would wish you to take this matter in hand and bring him home to Fotheringhay.
I expect a prompt reply. Not as last time when it took you near on a month to put pen to parchment. I hear far too much of your wasting time in tournaments and dancing.
Your mother,
Cecily
Edward, King of England, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from the Palace of Westminster
To my Lady Mother,
Here you are – a prompt reply within the week. You cannot rail at me for being dilatory on this occasion.
I honour your suggestion. I will consider Mademoiselle de Bourbon.
At the moment my time is taken up with Lancastrian pockets of insurrection in the country so marriage must be put on hold. After all the upheavals, we are bedevilled with plots, rioting mobs, public disorder, not to mention the new King Louis of France who is casting an eye on our shores and declaring support for Lancaster. An army has landed near Bamburgh Castle, and unfortunately some of our Neville relatives would rather rise in its support than give their oath of allegiance to me. Marguerite and her son are still in Scotland, plotting who knows what.
There is no need for you to be anxious about my marriage. I am far from the age when death claims a man through his natural span. I am aware that I need a son and heir but there is plenty of time. Meanwhile if I should fall in battle or to an assassin’s blade, there is George.
Are you planning a marriage for Meg?
This will give you something to think about rather than my nuptials. We must find her a more amenable husband than you managed for my sister Anne, one with unquestionable Yorkist credentials. Anne has had a miserable time with Exeter. I am inclined to support her in her quest for a divorce. Exeter will never be of value to the House of York.
I am told that she has a lover, but of course she does not talk to me about it. She probably thinks that I will disapprove. He is Thomas St Leger, a gentleman from Kent. I expect she is enjoying Exeter’s absence in impoverished exile with the Queen. It pleased me to grant my sister a London home near yours at Coldharbour just along the Thames and make the rents from Exeter’s lordships available for her use. It is what she deserves.
It is true that I enjoy the company of women. I never treat them with disrespect. Women like me too. I will make no excuses.
Your utterly respectful son,
Ned
I will arrange the reinterment of my father when events are less pressing.
I note with interest your signing with your name alone. Is it not a Queen Regnant who would do that?
Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from Tonbridge Castle
Dear Cis,
I have been thinking.
It is more than two years now since Richard’s death.
Will you wed again?
I think you will not appreciate the question, but you are a mere forty-eight years and a woman of influence. I can think of a number of high-born men who might consider you as a wife. If only to guard your interests, a husband might be good policy. Broken hearts apart, men can be very useful. It does not have to be for love. He does not have to be a man who owns your heart and soul. I even doubt if you have to obey his every word. If nothing else, it would guard against loneliness as the young ones move to their own households.
A new husband might be just the thing.
Your thoughtful sister,
Anne
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham
Written from Baynard’s Castle
Dear Anne,
Do I take it, from your enigmatic letter, that you are considering diving once more into the fraught pool of matrimony? All I would say is this:
Beware of those who have their mind set on your extensive estates and the revenue of your dower lands. You would be an asset to any man’s money chests. Beware of those who see you as a stepping stone to the good offices of the King. We will not, at our advanced age, even mention love.
There, my advice that you can take or leave. I have thought about remarriage. Did you think I would not? My heart might belong to Richard until the day I die, but yes I can see loneliness on my personal horizon. Yet I think I will not. A new husband for the King’s Mother might expect too much power as the King’s Father by Marriage.
I have no wish to be merely a man’s wife. Being King’s Mother will suit me very well. Any influence over my son will be mine, and mine alone.
I have enough marital problems on my plate as King’s Mother without considering my own remarriage.
Besides, who would I wed? Who would be a suitable mate for such as I?
Your sister,
Cecily
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Edward, King of England
Written from Baynard’s Castle, 1463
I trust you are in health.
More importantly I trust that you make good and regular confession of your sins to God.
Now about your marriage. How many times have I written to you concerning this matter since you took the crown? It has always been a sign of my affection and my concern.
Now it is a sign of my displeasure.
The rumours that flood the Court and the City fill me with nothing but incredulity. Your father and I raised you to be honest and chivalrous, to be respectful in your dealings with women. What I hear is that you are gaining a reputation for lust and lasciviousness. You did not get that from your father who was never promiscuous! Even the chroniclers are aiming their arrows at you.
I can only echo this sentiment.
Men marvel that our sovereign lord is so long without a wife, and were ever afraid that he was not chaste in his living.
What sort of weapon is that to put into the hands of the chroniclers? The reputation of a King should be sacrosanct.
I wish you to come and see me at Baynard’s Castle within the week, to continue this discussion. It is time that you showed England that you are prepared to take your duties to the realm seriously.
We will also discuss the possibilities for Meg, since you must have a hand in the decision. If you can find the time… At least you have emerged from your amours to consider the promotion of your brothers. I find the offices most suitable, George as Lieutenant of Ireland to continue our connection there, and Diccon as Admiral of the Sea.
Your mother,
Cecily
Edward, King of England, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from the Palace of Westminster
To my Lady Mother, with all my love and respect,
I see no discussion here, merely your taking me to task.
Is my life to be all war and duty? I have spent the last two years in nothing but the heaviest of conflict, ensuring that England is now fully under my control. Marguerite and the boy are now fled into exile in France, which could be dangerous. Thus I am closely involved in securing peace with France and Scotland with a promise there will be no more aid offered to Queen Marguerite, as she still styles herself. I am working on an alliance with Burgundy too.
I will not neglect my duty to marry.
I will visit you at Baynard’s Castle when I have the time.
Your dutiful son,
Edward, King of England
Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from Epworth
Dear Cis,
You won’t like this, but I will send it anyway.
Ned might be much admired for his exploits on the battlefield and at the negotiating table where he looks every inch a King, but this is what I am hearing, even as far away as Lincolnshire.
Ned has acquired in two short years the reputation of being licentious in the extreme. He is not to be trusted in the company of any woman. He pursues the married and unmarried, the noble and the lowly, with no discrimination. He is addicted to conviviality and excess. He is vain and drunken. He has taken a mistress, flaunting her at Court.
Do I go on? I cannot believe that you are deaf to this. Are you actually refusing to give credence to it? Even if it is not all true, it is not appropriate.
It is time he was taken in hand.
Dear Cis, I love him as a nephew, but this manner of kingship is not what so much blood was shed for. Exert your maternal powers. Pray over him. Or simply take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.
If you cannot, get Warwick to take him to task, as one soldier to another. Ned always admired Warwick. Now is the time to make use of this close friendship.
Your very stern elder sister,
Katherine
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Edward, King of England
Written from Baynard’s Castle
Edward,
On receiving a letter of the appalling scandal surrounding your behaviour from my sister Norfolk, I expect you to be at Baynard’s Castle before this day is finished. Travel by river.
Is it true that you have taken a permanent mistress to your bed? A certain Mistress Elizabeth Lucy, by whom you have an illegitimate daughter? Some say that you have actually promised marriage to the woman. I trust that is not true. Even you would have more sense than that.