The Queen's Rival

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘How can it be?’ I persisted. ‘If you defy your brother the King, what future can you have in England? Edward will surely cut you out of his sphere of influence. He can strip you of your estates. Or are you planning on outliving him? It is a chancy wager. It is my understanding that the King is to go on pilgrimage to Walsingham and Bury St Edmunds, with a Woodville entourage, of course, doubtless to pray for a son. If the Blessed Virgin grants him his desire, that is the end of your glorious future.’

  A sly cast to his countenance flitted past, one that I recalled from his childhood when he had devised some secret ploy and been discovered. ‘There are rumours…’ he began.

  But Warwick’s hand gripping Clarence’s arm brought the nascent confession to a stillbirth.

  ‘I have a task for you,’ Warwick said. And when my son would have argued the case, ‘I wish to speak alone with the Duchess.’

  Clarence left us in a cloud of sullen reluctance, so that we were alone and there was no point in my playing the innocent any longer.

  ‘Do you seek the crown for yourself?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’ Honesty crackled in the air between us. ‘Edward is King. I am his cousin. When I am restored to his counsels, when I have his ear, I will be the most loyal of subjects.’

  ‘But still you will pursue this marriage.’

  ‘Edward has left me with no choice. His Woodville policy has been devastating.’

  ‘I know how bitter you are.’

  It was as if a flame had been applied to a smouldering log.

  ‘How long must I tolerate this? I made Edward King, but I can no longer control him.’

  ‘You are still powerful and handsomely rewarded. Edward still relies on you.’

  ‘I see no reward. I see no reliance. My service to your son is no longer of any account. Nor will it ever be as long as the Woodvilles surround him.’

  A judgement delivered in flat, emotionless accents at odds with the fire in his eyes. The room was full to the brim with his bitterness. It positively dripped from the tapestried walls, like blood from a huntsman’s knife. I stretched my hand across the white cloth that still graced the table to touch his where it lay flat, fingers widespread. I was not without compassion.

  ‘There is no moving you, is there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I am sorry for it. I see only bloodshed.’

  ‘I think I am more sanguine. Edward and I can still come to terms, if he is willing to close his ears to the Woodville bellowing.’

  I could not see it happening.

  ‘Why do you need my support?’ I asked, as I had at the beginning.

  ‘Because you are the only one Edward will listen to, short of facing him on a battlefield and forcing him at the point of a sword.’

  ‘Once that might have been true.’ A little sadness trickled through my veins, as I admitted the truth. ‘But now he has a wife whose pretty fingers have tightened on the royal reins, at the same time as they have dislodged mine.’

  Which awoke a smile in my nephew. ‘We might try together to dislodge her.’

  And, then, because there was a softening between us and because I thought that he might be open with me, ‘What was it that you stopped Clarence from telling me? What were the rumours?’

  The vestige of humour promptly vanished.

  ‘There are none. Just something Clarence has heard and misunderstood. Nothing that need disturb you.’

  I angled my chin, my eyes cool on his.

  ‘Will you object if I say that I do not believe you?’

  He shrugged, smiled briefly.

  ‘Will you be honest with me?’ I asked.

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Will this non-existent rumour that Clarence has misunderstood hurt Ned?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will it hurt me?’

  ‘I think it will.’

  Honesty indeed. It hurt, but it was best to know the worst.

  ‘Will you make use of this non-existent rumour?’ I asked.

  ‘If I have to,’ the Earl of Warwick replied without hesitation. ‘It is too good a weapon not to bring into my armoury.’

  Cecily, King’s Mother, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk

  Written from Canterbury

  My most erudite sister,

  I have just spent some troubling days in Canterbury with Warwick and Clarence. More than troubling. This is written in the wake of a conversation over which I had no control, and one I did not like. I foresee absolute disaster. I am in severe need of advice. O, how I wish that Richard were alive. I know that he could be driven to reckless action, but he would never sanction what our son Clarence is doing. It is all such a mess of tangled skeins, I doubt they will ever be untangled.

  What is clear is that Warwick is in careful alliance with King Louis who has promised him the principalities of Holland and Zeeland if he works for the overthrow of Edward. Warwick would not admit to this, but Clarence was voluble when I got him alone and pinned him down. With that now established, who is behind the rebellions in the north, led by the enigmatic and undiscoverable Robin of Redesdale? It takes no intelligence to guess.

  With Edward fully occupied in dispatching the rebels, the plan is that Warwick and Clarence will sail for Calais with our clerical nephew, the Archbishop of York, in tow to see the deed done, the marriage of Clarence to Isabel. Edward’s refusal stands for nothing. My family is falling apart, my sons in conflict, Diccon, I fear, strongly under Warwick’s influence. All I can see is the crown being snatched from Edward’s brow, even though Warwick denies that he has such ill will towards my son.

  And who will wear it then? If it is Clarence, he will be very much the puppet of Warwick. I don’t think he is strong enough to hold Warwick at bay. We did not speak of this, but it was clear in every unspoken nuance.

  I tried. I advised caution and renegotiation. I talked myself hoarse, hoping that the constant dripping of water on a stone might wear away some of the intransigence. I will persist and do all I can in the name of my eldest son, yet I cannot change Warwick’s mind over this marriage.

  There is nothing I can do but disapprove and frown. For the first time in my life I feel alone and at the mercy of others. It is worse than standing before the drunken rabble in Ludlow.

  At the end, I thought that Clarence was inclined to tell me more than Warwick wished. Some rumour that has begun to circulate. Warwick put a stop to it, and I had more dignity than to pursue what it might be. Something nasty appertaining to Edward, I suppose. Another mistress, another bastard child. Not that it matters. I fear that Warwick’s plan will be carried out whatever objections I might raise. I see no hope of reconciliation.

  That does not mean that I will not try.

  Your anxious and irritated sister. And angry, of course, but that does not need saying.

  Cecily

  Cecily, King’s Mother, to George Neville, Archbishop of York

  Written from Canterbury

  Nephew,

  Can you not stop this?

  I understand your resentment. I understand your fury at losing your post of Lord Chancellor at the same time as you are forced to watch the promotion of Earl Rivers. Of course you will blame Edward, as Warwick does for all his reversals. Nevertheless, to take revenge in this way, dividing the family, is foolhardy.

  You owe me a debt. Without my influence I doubt that you would have become Archbishop of York.

  I am calling in that debt.

  Stop this marriage.

  If it goes ahead the rift between Warwick and the King will be impossible to heal.

  What will be the result for this country? I fear a return to civil war.

  Set aside your mortification at your demotion. Get off your knees, or your episcopal backside, my lord Archbishop, and claim the ear of your brother. And Clarence’s, while you are at it; I suspect you have more influence with either of them than I.

  Cecily, King’s Mother

  If you thwart my son the King, in God’s nam
e you will pay for it!

  George Neville, Archbishop of York, to Cecily, King’s Mother

  Written from Sandwich

  My illustrious aunt,

  There is no hope of dissuading either my brother or my nephew from this well-planned path. You failed at Canterbury in an impassioned plea, surprising in its eloquence, even for the Duchess of York. I can do no better.

  Come to Sandwich where we will reside until sailing for Calais, if you think there is any hope.

  I have to admit to you, dear lady, that I am in agreement with my brother. This marriage would be good policy. I will marry the two young people with a politically joyful heart.

  I do not think I will ever recover from my resentment at being removed from office so ignominiously. Nor can I set myself to work amicably with Earl Rivers.

  Dear lady, I cannot repay my debt to you. Or not at this instant.

  George York

  England’s Chronicle, the eleventh day of July 1469

  An announcement.

  Who would have wagered a groat on such an occurrence?

  The marriage of George, Duke of Clarence, brother of our present King Edward, to Isabel Neville, elder daughter of the Earl of Warwick, in Calais.

  Solemnised by George Neville, Archbishop of York.

  Does the King know?

  Even more interestingly, does the Duchess of York, King’s Mother, know? She was seen in the company of the two Neville brothers in Canterbury and Sandwich before Warwick’s party sailed for Calais. Clearly she did not accompany them.

  We hear that the Earl of Warwick had in his possession a papal dispensation.

  If King Edward was unaware of the direction in which the wind was blowing, he will now be feeling the full force of the Neville gale.

  Such blatant defiance!

  What will our King do?

  Cecily, King’s Mother, to George, Duke of Clarence

  Written from Berkhamsted

  My son,

  I wish you and your new Duchess every happiness in your marriage. I only hope the repercussions do not come back to haunt you.

  I cannot be sanguine about it, but have to make the best of a bad job.

  If you were in any doubt as to my continuing care and affection for you, you will note that I sent my minstrels to play at your wedding. As well as arranging for a gift of trout for Isabel.

  I enclose a recipe to do justice to the fish, not knowing the quality of your cooks in Calais. It makes a very bland fish more than edible.

  Cecily, King’s Mother

  A Recipe for Chewettes on Fyssh Day

  Take the trout with any other fish such as turbot, haddock, codling and hake.

  Seep it and grind it small.

  Add ground dates, raisins, pine nuts, good powder and salt.

  Make a coffin, stuff with fish, close the lid.

  Fry them in oil or stew them in ginger, sugar, and wine. Or bake them.

  Serve them forth.

  Cecily, King’s Mother, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk

  Written from Berkhamsted

  Dear Katherine,

  Warwick has sent Edward a letter in open support of Robin of Redesdale’s uprising.

  How do I know? I have my means of gleaning information. Ready coin can always buy it. If we were unsure of Warwick’s motives, now all is as clear as the words on the document.

  Oh, it is spectacularly deferential to the King. All the blame for the ills of this realm is placed at the door of others. Can you guess? The letter names those who must be brought to account for the use of our sacred laws for the promotion and enrichment of the few. Earl Rivers, his wife and their son Lord Scales. All the lords associated with the poisonous Woodvilles.

  Jacquetta, to my regret for past friendships, has been singled out as a malign influence, for encouraging her daughter and bringing about the marriage in the first place. There is a viciousness here in the accusation. Will Warwick accuse her of witchcraft? Yes, I expect that he will if it serves his purposes. It may be too close to the bone to attack the Queen herself, but her mother is fair game.

  You should be warned, my dear Kat. One of the list of malefactors is Sir John Woodville. I doubt he will need your warning but he should take care. I believe that Warwick is out for blood.

  I fear the outcome. Edward is still engaged with the rebels in the north. I am not exactly certain where Warwick and Clarence are at the moment, but I anticipate their return to England’s shores with their armies in readiness. I wish I could see their ultimate goal. To remove the Woodvilles and take their place as Edward’s counsellors once more? Or do they have a more savage intent, to remove Edward, too, with King Louis’ blessing.

  I pray that it will not be.

  Oh, Kat. Sometimes I can weep with frustrations at being unable to halt the malign spinning of the Wheel of Fortune.

  But I will not weep. That will bring no remedy.

  Your troubled sister,

  Cecily

  Do you have an effective method of ridding us of vermin? If we are not tripping over rats, we are overcome with a surfeit of cats and kittens to catch them. I suppose it is the only way, other than employing the local rat-catcher again with his traps and terriers and a constantly open palm. I will have to pay exorbitantly.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rumour and Speculation

  Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, to Anne, Lady Mountjoy

  Written from Epworth, July 1469

  Sister,

  The rumours coming out of France!

  Do you suppose that Cis has heard them? Even more apposite, do you suppose that they are true? I cannot believe them. But Cis was always a law unto herself. And she was a very handsome girl. Would she risk so much for a dangerous dalliance with a menial?

  Someone needs to tell her. You are the closest and always have been. I will let you whisper these terrible rumours into her ear.

  Good fortune.

  Katherine

  Anne, Lady Mountjoy, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk

  Written from the Palace of Westminster

  My dear Katherine,

  Yes, I have heard. It may not yet have reached Cis at Berkhamsted. In fact, I think she has been travelling, engaged in negotiating the sale and shipping of her wool with her pet Genoese merchant Pietro de Furno. I doubt she is listening to rumour.

  I’ll not tell her. We have been on opposite sides in the conflict for too long. We are now much reconciled, and I would not willingly risk shattering the domestic calm. She will not take any criticism kindly from me. Far better from you. You live too far away for an angry visit, and you have her advantage of age.

  Do not be surprised if she explodes in fury.

  Do you suppose that it actually is true? Who would have thought it!

  Anne

  Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, to Cecily, King’s Mother

  Written from Epworth

  To my well-beloved sister,

  Have you heard the rumours crossing the sea from France?

  Anne and I are in agreement that you should be told of them.

  They are scurrilous.

  Are they true?

  I hesitate to write them down in case they are not, and this letter falls into hostile hands. My suggestion is that you go and talk to Anne. And try not to smite the messenger when she tells you what you will not wish to know.

  Your non-judgemental sister, who is unsure what to believe,

  Katherine

  Cecily, King’s Mother, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk

  Written from Berkhamsted

  Kat,

  What rumours?

  I have more to worry about than rumours from France. I haven’t time to visit Anne.

  Our family has suddenly become the most quarrelsome in Christendom, and rushing headlong towards open hostilities, unless something can be done about it.

  A fistful of empty rumours, spread probably by King Louis to stir up the country on behalf
of Queen Marguerite and restore Henry, are not high on my list of difficulties. At least we know where Henry is, shut up in the Tower with his books and his prayers. That’s the only good news I can think of.

  Is Louis saying that he has escaped and is at large? I swear he has not.

  I do not understand why such rumours should concern you unduly? You were not wont to be nervous.

  I am up to my ears in wool prices and the healthy state of my flocks in Suffolk.

  Your busy sister,

  Cecily

  England’s Chronicle, July 1469

  Well, well. Who would ever have believed this possible?

  Our King Edward might not actually be a true child of our late lamented Duke of York and his wife Proud Cis. Our King might just be a bastard.

  What does Dowager Duchess Cecily have to say about this? She may be King’s Mother, but who is the King’s Father?

  We have heard it said that Proud Cis claimed it herself. Did she actually admit to so heinous a crime, a sin against her husband? Did she actually write the accusation in a letter to her royal son?

  It seems that she did.

  Although we have not seen such a letter, we are reliably informed.

  If King Edward is illegitimate, then he has no claim to the crown.

  If so, whose head should it grace? The smoothly handsome, charming, witty, ambitious George, Duke of Clarence. Is that what his mother would wish for? Has the Duchess been scheming with Warwick and her son of Clarence to remove King Edward?

  This family is suddenly not short of scandal, despite the Duchess’s name for magnificent piety!

  Anne, Lady Mountjoy, to Cecily, King’s Mother

  Written from the Palace of Westminster

  Cis,

  Since you will not come to me, I will spell it out for you. It would be ridiculous if you remained in ignorance, and there is no longer any point in hiding it. I presume that you will deny it, but here is what’s being said. You may not have heard it from the depths of Berkhamsted, but there is whispering in every corner at Court that Ned is not Richard’s child.

  Is it not shocking?

  Ned, they are saying, is a bastard son of a man called Blaybourne whom you met, and with whom you had an illicit liaison, while in Rouen in the months before Ned’s birth. Blaybourne was a handsome archer – well, of course he was! – in the Rouen garrison, a man who took your eye when Richard was away campaigning. Ned was born on the twenty-eighth day of April in the year 1442, I think. York was campaigning in Pontoise and did not return to Rouen until after the twentieth day of August in the previous year. Those who are interested in counting the months say that he was absent at the crucial time for the boy’s conception. Whoever was Ned’s father, it was not Richard.