by Anne O'Brien
Cecily has ambitions, of course, as King’s Mother.
Could it be that she sees her new daughter by law as a threat?
Duchess Cecily takes the King to task in Reading Abbey, September 1464
The chambers offered to me in Reading Abbey were all that I would expect of a wealthy bishop. I had no interest in the furnishings despite the opulence of the tapestries and the high polish on the wooden accoutrements.
Edward, King of England, stood before me.
‘Where is she?’
‘Who?’
‘Do not be obtuse, Edward.’
I could not address him as Ned. There was no maternal affection within me.
His eyes widened with just the hint of the temper that he rarely showed to me.
‘You refer to my wife, Madam.’
A little silence fell, broken only by a squawk from the popinjay that had been consigned to the corner of the room. I ignored the wine poured and presented to me. Rejected the delicacy of fried fig pastries he had ordered to sweeten my mood. There would be no sweetening here.
‘What have you done, Edward? What in God’s name have you done?’
Replacing the cup on the salver, my son stood foursquare before me. He had known that he would have to face this conversation with me. They said that he was charismatic in his treatment of women. There was no doubting it. His smile could have melted winter ice.
‘I have entered into a marriage. Was that not what you had been commanding me to do since the day that I became King?’
The truth of this stirred my anger to a new level of heat.
‘I am finding it difficult to choose my words. You have married a commoner, a woman of no connection, a woman already wed, with a family of her own, and so defiled. A Queen of England should be a spotless virgin, not a widow. I can barely believe the truth of it, that you should have embarked on so misguided a policy.’
‘I regret that you are so dismissive of my choice of wife.’ How smooth he was. How adult. I remembered that he was now two and twenty years old. ‘Not one word to wish us happy. I might have hoped for more.’
At least his smile had waned.
‘Happy is not a concept for a King when entering into matrimony,’ I replied. ‘Did you not think? Did you not stop and consider before you committed the deed? As King of England you had your choice of European women of high birth. Bona of Savoy would have been the perfect match. Your children would be magnificently connected to the best blood of England and France. Here was a chance to tie France into an alliance which would defeat the Lancastrians for ever.’
Since, without a reply, Edward picked up his own cup and drank, I continued.
‘Instead you have chosen a woman who will give you no advantage, and in so doing you have antagonised Warwick, humiliated King Louis, horrified your Council. And if that were not enough you have angered the bedrock of your Yorkist followers whose blood has been spilt in our cause on the battlefield. They think that you have betrayed them by this marriage. Surely I and your father raised you to see the value of making and keeping friends in political circles. You have destroyed so much goodwill. It will serve you badly if King Louis, feeling thwarted by your inexplicable volte-face, promptly gives his support to Queen Marguerite and furnishes her with French troops to win the throne back for her son. We could have a French army landing on our shores within months, and it will be entirely your own fault.’
Which at last prompted my son into some level of response.
‘You take no account of the reason why I asked that she would wed me. It is very clear to anyone who knows me well, and who knows the lady. I fell in love. I wed her because I did not wish to live without her.’
His features were alight with it. I would not be persuaded.
‘Love! It is an embarrassment.’
And there again was the flash of temper in his eyes as they held mine without any sense of regret.
‘I love her! Did I not appreciate the problems surrounding this marriage? I am neither ignorant nor naive, but the moment I set eyes on Mistress Grey, my heart was hers, as hers was mine. I wed her because I wished to spend my life with her. I know that she will be an unimpeachable Queen.’
His confidence was disquieting.
‘You say that you are not naive. This marriage was the opportunity to make that one single irrevocable alliance with a European power through the hand of a foreign Princess. Instead you have thrown it away on a family of little renown. Rivers, a man of meagre nobility. Jacquetta, it is true, the daughter of some distant branch of the family of Luxembourg, but it does not make amends for Woodville’s less than glorious birth.’
‘I care not.’
‘You should care. A King, particularly a new King with a kingdom to take in hand, should wed a virgin, a woman of pure reputation. It is not acceptable for you to wed a widow.’
My son’s face was wiped clean of any expression, but he was not lost for words.
‘It’s always an education to hear your views of my character, Madam.’
I walked the length of the room, to put some distance between us, dismayed that he was unwilling to even recognise the damage he had done. ‘Surely my nephew of Warwick must have guided you. And yet you have squandered your options, Edward. Your father would never have done anything so foolhardy.’
When I turned to face him, Edward had taken occupation of a window seat and was considering his reply, watching me over the rim of his cup.
‘Would you then have had me wed the Scottish Queen with her amours and insatiable appetite? Simply because it would have secured Scottish friendship and protected the northern border from Scottish inundation?’
‘Of course I would not! Don’t play the fool with me, Edward.’
‘I love Elizabeth.’ Restless, angry, he pushed himself upright to stand in my path. ‘As you loved my father.’
‘It is nothing like my own situation as a bride,’ I replied. ‘That was a political marriage. Love came later, a mere chance blessing to a union of benefit to both families. Love is of the least importance for one in your position, as it was in mine. Love must have respect or it is nothing, as empty and worthless as the husks after the autumn winnowing. Can you respect this woman who apparently waylaid you on the road to beg a boon of you for her children? Or is it merely lust you feel for her?’
‘You dishonour yourself by such an accusation.’
I was losing him. He was his own man on the battlefield. Now he rejected all advice that did not please him.
‘Do we speak of dishonour? Rumour credits you with more mistresses than days in the month. Could you not have taken the woman as one more paramour and have done? Did you have to marry her? You dishonour your marriage by its secrecy!’
‘Elizabeth is virtuous. She is a widow, not a harlot.’ My son had stiffened under my onslaught, but now a ghost of a smile touched his lips. ‘She would not come to my bed without the sanctity of the church.’
‘I find that difficult to believe. Have you lost your skills of persuasion?’
‘I don’t think I have.’
‘What does Warwick say to this misalliance?’
‘Ah – Warwick!’ Edward’s glance slanted to me. ‘He was uncomfortably outspoken – but we’ve found a level of agreement.’
‘Beware of him.’ For the first time I touched my son, my fingers resting lightly, persuasively, on the hand that held the cup. He did not pull away, but I felt there a furious tension. ‘My nephew could be a dangerous man. Do not make an enemy of him. He’ll not take humiliation well and he has the power to harm you.’
Even when he pulled away, I continued.
‘You enabled him, encouraged him. He has proved his worth on the battlefield. If you would deign to take advice from your mother, it would be unwise of you to antagonise him further than you have already done by rejecting his efforts on your behalf to make a French alliance. If he feels threatened he might consider the need to challenge you. I admire him, but it would be unwise to
push him too far. Loyalty is a finite commodity.’
‘I am aware that I have angered Warwick but he must accept that I am no longer a child who needs guidance. I am King and have policies of my own. As for Louis, I am of a mind to pursue an alliance with Burgundy, which he is free to accept or reject. If I make a firm undertaking with Burgundy, Louis’ espousal of Marguerite’s cause will be of no account.’
I heard his voice gain an unaccustomed edge.
‘I will not be governed as though I were a minor, bound to marry at the whim of a guardian. I would not be a King if I allowed such a curb on my own liberties, would I?’
A resolute inflexibility marred his good nature for a moment, hardening his face with the glamour of power. Then Edward smiled and once more held out the chased goblet of wine.
‘I ask that you will soften towards Elizabeth; I ask that you will play a role in her coronation in Westminster Abbey. I believe that the rest of my family will be willing to show their support. As for my Yorkist followers, I think that they will be won over by a beautiful woman. Is it not also an excellent policy to win Lancastrians to my reign? Her family will be foremost in giving me their loyalty, and others will soon follow. I thought my marriage would please you, Madam.’
‘Please me!’ I placed the cup on the table with a snap, the wine slopping onto the surface. He had filled it too full, which strangely fuelled my anger. ‘Nothing about this situation pleases me! To wed her in such secrecy seems to me to be a sign of a guilty conscience. Perhaps you knew all the problems, but in a moment of unforgivable blindness and lust chose to ignore them and your duty to England.’
All I received in return was a careless shrug.
‘My wife has already proved her worth. She has two healthy sons. I am proved to be fertile. I acknowledge at least one bastard child as my own. Thus each of us has demonstrated the unlikelihood that we will prove barren. We should be more than capable of producing an heir for England. I trust in God that before long my wife will carry a young Prince for you to dote on. That should please you, if nothing else does.’
I suddenly felt weary. More than weary. The deed was done. My son was married and there was no turning the tide back. Nothing I could say would have any effect. I made my way to the door, desperate to seek solitude in the bishop’s chapel, until my son’s voice stopped me.
‘You have not said if you will be present at the coronation. We need to know so that your role in the proceedings can be clarified.’
‘I will not be there.’
‘I have to decide where Elizabeth will live before the event. Are you willing to give her hospitality at Baynard’s Castle?’
I would not be accommodating. I would not have her living under my roof.
‘It will not be convenient for your wife to take up residence at Baynard’s Castle,’ I said. ‘Send her to Greenwich Palace. Your sister Margaret and your two brothers are in residence there, to escape the plague. It would do perfectly as a temporary accommodation for your wife.’
Edward, opening the door for me, chose not to respond to my suggestion.
‘I hope you will change your mind. In the interest of harmony in my household.’
Before it closed behind me, all I heard was the popinjay’s shriek, startled by some reaction from within the room. Edward laughed. The popinjay had more effect on him than I.
All was clear, like iron nails hammered into a coffin. Elizabeth Woodville would be Queen of England. I had been supplanted by a woman for whom I had no respect.
At some point I would have to meet her.
What a game that would be to play out. Queen versus King’s Mother.
Chapter Twenty
A Woodville Queen
Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from Tonbridge Castle, October 1464
Dear sister,
Have you met the Woodville bride? Since the wedding, I mean.
Will I see you at the coronation?
I understand it will be an event of untold magnificence.
I think I will come and stay with you at Baynard’s Castle to encourage you into attending.
Your sister, agog with prurient interest,
Anne
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham
Written from Reading Abbey
Dear Anne,
No, I have not yet met her formally. That pleasure still awaits me. It is one thing to acknowledge a young woman of little importance and quite another to take her into my bosom as my daughter by law.
I have made it clear to Edward that I will not be at the Queen’s coronation.
I do not need a description of how superb a ceremony Edward has arranged. I am well aware that he has a gift for showy display.
I find that I cannot be present when the Lancastrian Woodvilles rejoice at their achievement. I suspect that Richard will be turning in his unsuitable shroud. Were you aware that his most precious remains are still in Pontefract?
You will say that I am too selfish and proud, but I find it impossible to give my recognition to such a disastrous political mistake.
You will note that I am now addressing my eldest son as Edward. He has forfeited my affectionate appellation of Ned.
Cecily
Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from the Palace of Westminster
Dear Cis,
Well, you will get a full description from me, when it happens. I will tell you every succulent detail of how proud the Woodvilles are become.
Will you be the only one of the family not to be at the ceremony and the feasting? I think it good policy to show compliance with Ned’s choice. It would not do to announce to the realm with trumpet and herald that you do not approve.
Will you truly allow personal sentiment and pride to overrule political necessity? Would it be wise to allow discord to develop between King and King’s Mother?
I need your advice on what I should wear.
He is still Ned to me.
Your sister,
Anne
Duchess Cecily meets the Queen in Reading Abbey, October 1464
Mistress Grey was awaiting me in one of the bishop’s sun-filled antechambers. She curtsied as I entered and pressed her lips to the hand that I offered. She was of course not yet Queen, and had been well schooled, either by Jacquetta or Edward himself. Low and formal and elegant, her obeisance to me was perfection itself. Against my inclination, I was impressed.
And by her handsomeness. Was she not gilded with the light? Her finely plucked eyebrows were marvellously arched.
I raised her to her feet.
‘Let me look at you.’
She was indeed as comely as they said. I led her to the window, where I was forced to admit to a sharp pain of jealousy. If beauty was in the perfect oval of her face, in the unblemished skin, in those wide lustrous eyes, then this woman was undeniably beautiful. How could my son not be entranced?
The days of my own beauty were long past, and I was never as lovely as this woman.
‘You are my son’s wife.’
Regrettably, Elizabeth Woodville was taller than I. Height was an advantage with which I had always struggled.
‘Yes, my lady.’
I almost asked her if she had connived at their meeting, waylaying him in the forest, but to what value? Her eyes were downcast in seemly respect, yet I sensed a latent power within the low-cut, fur-trimmed bodice.
‘It pleases me that I was well received here at Reading, madam,’ she observed with a gentle smile. ‘Being presented to the Court in the chapel of the Abbey I thought would be difficult. You were not there, of course, to receive me. But Warwick and the King’s brother Clarence led me in, to give me royal support.’
I felt my shoulders stiffen. Was this a criticism of my deliberate absence?
‘I regret our marriage was without your knowledge, madam,’ she continued. ‘Your son the King insisted on it
.’ How impressive was her serenity as she retrieved a small package from her over-sleeve. ‘I have a gift for you as a memento of that day when you were unable to be with us. I hope that you will accept it as a token of my regard.’
I opened the little book. It was costly, the work of an expert scribe.
‘My thanks.’
‘I know that you will have wished for a better marriage, to a lady of rank and connection. I hope that your son and I will be as successful as you in producing sons and daughters. I pray that those born to us will live long lives.’
For the first time my composure was shaken.
‘I hope that you will be guided by your husband,’ I suggested.
‘Of course. And by yourself, my lady. I know that you will advise me most carefully to make a good wife for Edward. He has told me that he has seen the value of your support and advice in the past. I will try to emulate him. As well as giving due honour to my own father and mother, of course.’
Another little sting in the tail.
‘I hope that we will both work for the good of the realm, madam.’
There was nothing more to say. She expressed a wish to join me in the chapel to hear Mass, where her behaviour was exemplary. All those political choices torn up and cast in the flames for a lovely face and charming manners.
I could see behind the beauty and the charm. I could not trust the innocence in those softly glowing eyes.
Here, I feared, was a woman of ambition.
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham
Written from Reading Abbey
Dear Anne,
Is it possible that I have misjudged her?
I have met with Edward’s wife.
She proved to be graceful and well mannered. Or at least she had the ability to mask any ill-advised ambitions, other than to become my son’s wife in such regrettable secrecy. We managed a frictionless conversation with both of us on our best behaviour. I will never be accused of crude manners, and nor it seems will she, although I detected an unwise wit that might be used at the expense of those whom she dislikes.
