by Anne O'Brien
Our Neville Archbishop of York has at last paid for his sins against the House of York.
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Anne, Duchess of Exeter
Written from Berkhamsted, 1472
To my much-loved daughter,
It is difficult for me to accept the necessity for a divorce, but how can I not? It was a very painful union for you with a man who, like a worm, lacked backbone. You have attained your legal separation from your estranged husband through a most legitimate argument. I commend you in taking my advice when petitioning your brother. It could be argued that the original papal dispensations for your marriage, to release you from the bounds of consanguinity, were inadequate since it never revealed that you and Holland are both descended from my grandfather John of Gaunt. Thus your marriage was never valid.
I regret that it has taken so many years of your unhappiness to prove it.
Perhaps you can wed Thomas St Leger and legitimise the relationship you have had with him. At least it will put a halt to that scandal.
I do not wish to sound lacking in compassion. You deserve some marital happiness.
The marriage of Diccon to Anne Neville will give the gossips something to talk about. I understand Clarence is once more in a state of common disgruntlement over this alliance and the apportioning of the Neville estates. As Isabel Neville’s husband, he wants them all.
No surprise there!
Your loving mother,
Cecily, King’s Mother
Cecily, King’s Mother, to George Neville, once Archbishop of York
Written from Berkhamsted
You can never claim that you were not warned for taking issue with my son. The King can be a good friend, but a ruthless enemy. Did you truly believe that he would forgive you? To take it upon your authority to solemnise the marriage of George, Duke of Clarence, with Isabel Neville, in Calais, when King Edward had strictly forbidden it, was a calamitous decision.
You have now paid the penalty. And I can honestly say that I am not sorry.
Arrested and charged with treason.
Banished to Calais.
All your property and treasure confiscated.
Your mitre broken.
All lost within the space of one day.
You should give heartfelt thanks that you have not paid with your head.
It will please you to know that your land will be given to the young Prince Edward. Your jewels are to be set into a new crown to grace King Edward’s brow. There is a lesson here which an ambitious churchman might preach to the sinners in his care.
Your aunt, who finds it difficult to be compassionate,
Cecily, King’s Mother
Royal Proclamation
On this day, the seventeenth day of August in the year 1473
Born to King Edward the Fourth and his wife Queen Elizabeth
In the Dominican Friary in the fair town of Shrewsbury
A son
Richard
Duchess Cecily’s intercession to the Blessed Virgin Mary
Hail Mary, full of Grace, Our Lord is with thee.
How much grief and loss must I bear?
I lift before you the daughter I have lost. Blessed Virgin, I pray for the soul of my daughter Anne. Released from the Exeter marriage, she had hopes of such happiness with Thomas St Leger. Death claimed her in childbed.
Forgive me my impertinence. You know all that, Holy Mother. You know the depth of the afflictions heaped on me. I weep for such cruelty. I rage at fate that has taken her from me. I ask forgiveness for the marriage we forced on our daughter.
I must give thanks that the infant daughter lives.
Grant me some ingenuity to draw my son Clarence back into the royal fold. I fear that treachery is once more engraved on his brow. He is become as dangerous as a pike in a carp pond.
I will not bow down before such outrageous burdens. I will fight on.
Amen
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy
Written from Berkhamsted
My very dearest Meg,
Your brother Clarence is prowling around the royal sheepfold like a hungry wolf.
How is it that he has learned no lessons from the past? Why did I ever lull myself into believing that Clarence’s reconciliation with Edward was a genuine meeting of minds? I should have known better after all these years.
Now his restlessness is all centred on brotherly jealousy. Clarence is dissatisfied with the portion of land given to him by Edward, and feels that Diccon has been treated with a more generous hand. Clarence refuses to come to Court unless Edward summons him. When he does, he sulks, lounges in silence through meetings of the Royal Council and refuses to eat or drink in Edward’s company. Edward remains remarkably tolerant, but his brother will not bend.
I expect that Clarence feels humiliated. Edward has taken Clarence’s favourite manor of Tutbury from him, as well as stripping him of his authority as Lieutenant of Ireland. But that does not excuse Clarence’s behaviour. Being Edward’s heir for ten years has given him such overweening pride. But now Edward has two sons. Clarence must accept that the crown is lost to him.
I fear it will only get worse. Could you exert any influence over him? Where is the brave, laughing child I recall, the one who enjoyed the tricks and ploys of Hesdin? I seem to have bred a dissatisfied lout.
I fear what will happen when Edward’s patience runs out, as it must. We know that he has a temper when roused.
Do you suppose that Isabel could make him see sense? She has not had spectacular success so far. She is a kind, well-mannered girl but I have not seen real strength of character there. I think that she may be very much within Clarence’s dominion. She is carrying a child so will have enough to concern her.
I cannot get close to him. He has shuttered his mind to every one of his family.
I think you are the only one who can demand his attention now that your sister Anne is dead. A word of warning from a displeased sister might be more acceptable than one from his mother. He will assuredly not listen to Gloucester. More like to bury a sharp blade between his ribs.
Do what you can.
Your affectionate mother,
Cecily, King’s Mother
Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from Hesdin
My most well-beloved mother,
I tried; in all good faith, I tried.
I sent an official herald to Clarence, resplendent in all the red, gold and blue of Burgundian panoply, lions rampant on his chest. I thought it would make a suitable impression. Sadly, he was received no further than the entrance hall at Warwick, kept waiting in the draughts without even a cup of ale, until Clarence strode in and demanded what he might want.
My herald was most precise in recording the exchange. My brother was rude, discourteous and crude in his response, using words and expressions I will not write. He mocked the Burgundian magnificence. He will remain where he is, a wounded boar in his lair, to defend his estates against his brother Gloucester.
The warning will have to come from his mother, although I hold out no hope.
You might try Isabel as a last resort. Clarence might at least listen to his wife if she is carrying his child.
Your faithful daughter,
Meg
Chapter Thirty
Clarence Places Himself beyond Redemption
Cecily, King’s Mother, to George, Duke of Clarence
Written from Berkhamsted, March 1476
My son,
It is my wish that you come and visit me.
Do I have to spend my life summoning my sons to my presence? It seems that I do.
It is inordinately bad policy that you should be estranged from your two brothers, and particularly from your King. Any man of sense would know that. I regret that you could not be receptive to your sister’s request. It is discourteous in the extreme to keep a Burgundian herald with crown and staff of office loitering in the entrance.
<
br /> I request that you come to Berkhamsted on receipt of this letter.
Give my kind thoughts to Isabel as she awaits a new child. I send her an excellent nostrum to guard against another unhappy outcome to her pregnancy. I am aware that she has carried two sturdy children but your wife, from past experience, is vulnerable in childbirth. I would not wish her to lose another child.
The tragic loss of your sister Anne in childbed at the beginning of this year has left me with an acute anxiety for Isabel.
Cecily, King’s Mother
A Recipe to Guard Against the Sad Event of the Death of a New-Born Child
Take the following:
Oil
Wax
Powder of Frankincense
Mastic
Mix well and anoint in front and in back two or three times every week in the final weeks before the babe is due. May the Holy Mother have mercy on you and the child.
George, Duke of Clarence, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from Warwick Castle
Madam,
I see no purpose in journeying to Berkhamsted.
I will not speak with the King. I will not speak with you. I will not speak with Gloucester. Nor with my sister Meg, so do not set her onto my heels again. I can do without sisterly lectures on what is expected of me.
Clarence
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Isabel, Duchess of Clarence
Written from Berkhamsted
To my beloved godchild and daughter by law,
I trust you are in good health, and your children.
Did you find the nostrum to strengthen the womb comforting? I pray that you will, for there is no greater loss than an unborn child. As we have both experienced.
But here is an urgency that I must broach. If you have any influence on your husband, now is the time to use it. I foresee no good from the present surly behaviour, most of it at your husband’s door. Edward’s patience is not without limit.
Clarence must find a way to return to Court with some degree of dignity. Even the youngest of your children would know better than to sulk through a Council meeting, his back turned to the King of England. Which is what Clarence managed to do.
Your affectionate mother by law
Cecily, King’s Mother
I was wrong, Isabel. There is a greater loss than an unborn child. To lose a much-loved husband is an everlasting wound to the heart. The bleeding never stops.
Isabel, Duchess of Clarence, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from Warwick Castle
Madam,
I am grateful for your kind wishes.
I have no influence. My husband is beyond reasoning. I might have some compassion with him, but he is constantly on the move to oversee the security of his estates from attack, whether real or imaginary.
I am suffering from a lowering darkness that assails my spirits. I cannot shake it off, but I have hopes to find use for the gift you sent. I pray for the blessing of another child.
I can only hope that time will heal all wounds between my husband and his brothers. I will do what I can.
Your affectionate daughter and godchild,
Isabel
Edward, King of England, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from the Palace of Westminster
Madam,
It is my proposal to have my new son Richard proclaimed Duke of York, and as such it is my wish that he will hold the lands of his namesake, my father. Currently many of these are in your possession and, for the present, there they will remain. My son will not come into his lands until he reaches the age of sixteen, but I thought you should know my intent; I have written it into my will. I foresee no difficulty and do not think that you will be unwilling.
It is my plan to now organise the reburial of my father at Fotheringhay which you have long desired.
If it should come to your ears that I was responsible for the sad demise of Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter, falling from a ship on his return to England when in my employ, there is no truth in it. Although I find it difficult to do anything but give thanks.
Your dutiful son,
Edward
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Anne, Lady Mountjoy
Written from Berkhamsted
My dearest sister,
Edward has perfected great skill in the use of sleight of hand when dealing with me, although without subtlety. My lands for his son Richard in exchange for the reinterment of my husband.
How can I refuse?
If I do not give my consent, Richard’s remains may well remain in Pontefract for ever. As the day of my own death must draw closer, it is imperative that I see his removal to Fotheringhay. Thus I will give up my lands for him to return home. Even though it is no longer my home.
It pleased me that the child will be known as Richard, Duke of York. A fitting memorial in flesh and blood to my own lord. It gives me some solace, to relieve my mind of the perpetual problem of Clarence. At least my Richard was spared that! Nor do I repine over Exeter’s death. His deviousness knew no bounds.
Cecily
England’s Chronicle, July 1476
A magnificent ceremony, long overdue some would say.
The earthly remains of Richard, Duke of York, are finally laid to rest in the church at Fotheringhay.
We have the words and impressions of an onlooker. Enjoy it, as if you too were there to witness this spectacle.
The travelling carriage approaches, all clothed in black, black velvet in deep folds sweeping down over the bier. On top an effigy, life-sized, clad in the darkest of blue.
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, rides as chief mourner behind the coffin of his father. At every church where they have rested on this long, slow journey from the north, the Choir Royal sang. Such honour and dignity has been shown to the Duke who should have been King.
Or so he claimed.
This is no day for old divisions. This is the day when he is returned home to Fotheringhay where the stained-glass windows that Duchess Cecily had first commissioned are now complete. At the entrance to the churchyard the cortege is met by King Edward himself, to show all honour to his father. By his side stands the Queen. Cloth of gold is offered by the King and Queen and the attendant nobility, to be laid in the shape of a cross on the effigy.
It is noted that the King bows, kisses the effigy, and weeps.
A horse is led to the church door, and with it is brought the Duke’s knightly trappings: his coat of arms, his shield, his sword and his helmet, all offered up in his name. Lord Ferrers rides the horse into the church, through the nave to the choir, carrying an axe, point lowered towards the floor. The harness is removed and offered at the altar.
The Duke of York is laid to rest in the choir.
His son Edmund, Duke of Rutland, is buried in the Lady Chapel.
Thus it is done, recorded in this Chronicle.
Who is present at this stern interment? The Queen, soberly clothed, is accompanied by her two elder daughters, Elizabeth, recently betrothed to the Dauphin, and Mary.
Who is not one of the mourners?
The Duchess of Gloucester, despite the prominent role of her lord. Is it perhaps that she is carrying a child? They have only one son, Edward of Middleham, now two years old. Nor is the Duke of Clarence and his wife here. Is there still a lingering element of mistrust?
Most pertinent, Duchess Cecily, King’s Mother, is not one of the royal crowd.
But then it is not customary for widows to attend their husband’s public interment.
We imagine that she was there in spirit. And some disgust at the Woodville Queen’s lauding it over the proceedings.
We applaud King Edward’s sense of what is due to his family, even though it is now more than fifteen years since the tragic death of his father and brother on the field at Wakefield.
May he finally rest in peace, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, the King who never was.
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Richard, Duke of York
Written at Berkhamsted, August 1476
The final letter, my love.
All is now complete. I shall not write again.
At last Edward has fulfilled my deepest desires, for which I must not neglect to give him my heartfelt thanks. At last your body was brought from Pontefract to lie as I had always intended at Fotheringhay. At last you were finally brought home, after a mournful procession for ten days from Pontefract to Fotheringhay.
I was not there to bear witness, but I know what was arranged.
Above your head an angel held the crown that you should have worn in life.
I weep for it. I weep for such a loss to this kingdom. I weep for such a loss for me.
I should have been there to welcome the coffin at the graveyard. To kneel and kiss the effigy.
I was not there, and it was my choice to be absent.
They say that I would not share the space with Elizabeth Woodville. It was true. This should have been my day, but Edward was immovable. Rather than inflict my sour mood, I remained on my knees in the chapel here at Berkhamsted. But my thoughts were at Fotheringhay, the sun shining down through the windows I had completed in your honour.
I must acknowledge that the Queen was not lacking in respect, wearing neither hennin nor wired veils, but garments of seemly mourning. I am told that it was a simple affair, befitting the occasion.
The Queen conducted herself as I would have wished. She has at last overcome her Woodville beginnings.
One day I will visit the tomb for myself.
Lie in peace, my dear love, my heart.
As I pray that England will now lie in peace under our son’s care.
Yet I feel the weight of some presentiment.
Your loving wife,
Cecily
To be kept safe with all the other legal documents appertaining to the life of Cecily, King’s Mother, Duchess of York.
England’s Chronicle, December 1476
An untimely death!
After our pleasure to report such a regal ceremonial to bring Richard Duke of York home, it is our sad task to announce the death of Isabel, Duchess of Clarence, elder daughter of the late Earl of Warwick, on the twenty-second day of December in this year of 1476 at Warwick Castle. It is less than three months since the birth of a son, Richard, who is thought to be ailing and not long for this world.
