The Queen's Rival

by Anne O'Brien

  And Afterwards

  Cecily, Dowager Duchess of York, lived on into the reign of King Henry VII, to see her last son Richard die on a battlefield and her granddaughter Elizabeth become Queen of England as wife of Henry VII. She lived a life of piety in these years, rarely travelling from Berkhamsted. She died on 31 May 1495 after signing her detailed will, and was buried beside her husband Richard in the Church of St Mary and All Angels at Fotheringhay. Around her neck on a silk ribbon was tied a papal indulgence. When Elizabeth I visited Fotheringhay she was made aware of the ruinous state of these tombs after the ravages of the Reformation, and arranged for their renewal. The bodies of Cecily and Richard were reburied together in new tomb.

  King Richard III reigned until 1485 when he was killed at the Battle of Bosworth, the last of the Yorkist kings. His son Edward had already died in 1484 at the age of ten years, and his wife Anne earlier in 1485. Richard’s crown was taken by Henry Tudor as King Henry VII, the first Tudor monarch. Richard’s body was famously discovered in 2012 in a crude grave under a car park in Leicester, near the site of the Greyfriars Priory Church. He was reinterred in regal splendour in Leicester Cathedral in 2015.

  Elizabeth Woodville lived a comfortable life in Bermondsey Abbey, and died there on 8 June 1492. Her funeral was at Windsor Castle and she was laid to rest in a simple ceremony beside her husband King Edward IV in St George’s Chapel.

  Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville, married Henry Tudor, becoming Queen Elizabeth and uniting the York and Tudor families. She was mother to Prince Arthur and also the future King Henry VIII.

  Edward, Prince of Wales, and Richard, Duke of York, the sons of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville, known to history as the Princes in the Tower, have been the subject of much speculation since they vanished from the public eye. Their ultimate end is unknown, or who might have been responsible. Whatever happened, their claim to the English throne was destroyed. A subject for a novel all on its own.

  Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, had no children of her own. She remained unmarried after the death of Charles the Bold, giving skilful and far-sighted advice to her step-daughter Mary of Burgundy until Mary’s death after a fall from her horse. Margaret continued to support the Yorkist challenges to the House of Tudor from Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck. Margaret died in 1503 at the age of fifty-seven years.

  Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, and Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, the children of the Duke of Clarence and Isabel Neville, paid a heavy penalty for their family connections with the Yorkist claim to the English throne. Margaret was executed in 1541 in the reign of King Henry VIII on the charge of treason. Edward was executed in 1499 for treason in the reign of Henry VII.

  Travels with Cecily Neville, Duchess of York

  For those of you who might enjoy following in the footsteps of Duchess Cecily: in person, by travel guide and history book, or by internet…

  Palace of Westminster, London

  The royal palace which Cecily would have known was sadly a victim of fire and no longer exists. What a loss to lovers of medieval history it is, particularly St Stephen’s Chapel which was the creation of the best artisans of the day. Today we have only the Jewel Tower and of course Westminster Hall. This is impressive enough, constructed by Richard II, showing us what the rest must have been like if we could only imagine it.

  Raby Castle, County Durham

  The magnificent castle in County Durham, a truly northern stronghold, home of the powerful Neville family and where Cecily Neville was born. She was to be known, but not in her own time, as the Rose of Raby.

  Baynard’s Castle, London

  The centre of operations for the House of York in London, an impressive structure, so we are told, with walls and gardens and its own wharf on the north bank of the Thames. Sadly it no longer exists, but a blue plaque marks the spot on Paul’s Walk almost opposite Tate Modern. Imagination needed but its position was supreme.

  Palace of Berkhamsted, Hertfordshire

  A royal palace much enjoyed by Edward III was originally a motte-and-bailey castle but was greatly added to as an important centre throughout the medieval period. Joan of Kent and the Black Prince spent some time there and it was where Cecily lived through her final years in strict piety. There are remains, but not nearly enough to do justice to the castle where Cecily lived and prayed and kept in touch with her extensive family. After her death, becoming unfashionable, the palace gradually fell into ruin and was only saved from extinction by English Heritage. It is still possible to imagine Cecily there in quiet retreat.

  Tonbridge Castle, Kent

  Very little remains of this home of the Stafford family where Cecily spent her imprisonment with her sister, but it does have a most impressive gateway and the remnants of the original motte and bailey. The castle was slighted during the English Civil War and was ruinous before being rescued by new owners in the eighteenth century. Now a picturesque spot on the Medway.

  Sandal Castle, West Yorkshire

  Considerably ruined today, the remains of the motte and bailey give a sense of what was one of the Yorkist strongholds in the north. From here Richard of York chose to lead his troops out to face a much greater army at the Battle of Wakefield where he and his son Edmund of Rutland met their death. There are no battlefield remains to appreciate.

  Canterbury Cathedral, Kent

  A solemn place for you to make your own pilgrimage, where Cecily visited to pray at the tomb of Thomas Becket when her family was falling to pieces around her with Warwick and Clarence defying King Edward. Such a wealth of history and connection in this formidable centre of history and worship.

  Ludlow and Ludlow Castle, Shropshire

  A superb castle in the Welsh Marches, and a little town that has preserved its medieval structure. Definitely a ‘must-see’ place, where Cecily stood in the market place and surveyed the ravaged town after the Lancastrian army ran amok. The castle is a gem, with much extant stonework from the period and before (as well as enough Tudor rooms to keep Tudor fans happy).

  Ludford Bridge, Shropshire

  The battlefield is not marked but you can stand on picturesque Ludford Bridge and admire the River Teme as you imagine the Lancastrian troops, with both King Henry VI and Queen Margaret in attendance, gathering to the west.

  Hereford Castle, Herefordshire

  This is where Cecily was reunited with Richard. Today there is no stonework remaining, although the flat site is still there to the east of the cathedral above the River Wye, called Castle Green. With a short stretch of banks and ditches and part of the moat now called Castle Pool, you will need your imagination to ‘see’ the medieval fortification, but Hereford is worth a visit in its own right, particularly the cathedral.

  Fotheringhay, Northamptonshire

  Once a large motte and bailey with a stone keep, there is little left of the castle which was the most favoured of Richard Duke of York, but the Church of St Mary and All Saints is a place of pilgrimage for those whose loyalty is captured by the House of York. Here you will find the tomb of Richard, Duke of York, and his wife Cecily Neville. Sadly it is not the original from when Richard’s body was reinterred from Pontefract. There was much damage done during the Reformation and the Yorkist tombs were smashed. Queen Elizabeth I ordered the removal of the remnants and the creation of the present monuments to Richard and Cecily that we see today.

  Micklegate Bar, York

  The tragic place for so many heads to be exhibited over the years. Hotspur’s of course. But also the heads of the Duke of York, Earl of Salisbury and Earl of Rutland. Any visitor to York will find their way around the superb walls to Micklegate Bar.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to my editor Finn Cotton, and the whole team at HQ Stories, who launched The Queen’s Rival into the world. I value his dedication, expertise and professionalism. And not least his enthusiasm for the characters and events that fill The Queen’s Rival. I am grateful for his toleran
ce in allowing them to say what I wish them to say.

  My perennial thanks to my agent Jane Judd, whose continuing support and friendship are both beyond price. Her advice on reading my first complete draft is of inestimable value. I know that we have both enjoyed the exploits of Cecily Neville.

  For all things technical and for the creation and care of my website I must thank Helen Bowden and all her IT experts at Orphans Press. I am constantly in debt to their technical know-how.

  Loved The Queen’s Rival? Read…

  A TAPESTY OF TREASON

  …another gripping historical romance from Anne O’Brien. Available now!

  Turn to the next page for an exclusive extract.

  Chapter One

  February 1399: Westminster Palace

  ‘Entertain us, sir.’

  Since my invitation caused Friar John Depyng to step aside in a display of speed impressive for so corpulent a figure, I smiled a brief show of teeth to soften my command. ‘If it please you, sir. We desire to take a glimpse into the future.’

  Friar John, not won over to any degree, dared to scowl. ‘Divination is not for entertainment, my lady.’

  Unperturbed, my brother Edward, forcefully large, grasped his elbow and drew him along with us. ‘You would not wish to refuse us. It would displease the King if your being disobliging happened, by chance, to come to his ear.’

  The quality of Edward’s smile lit fear in the cleric’s eyes.

  At my behest, we were borrowing Friar John, one of King Richard’s favourite preachers who had the gift of soothsaying, to while away an otherwise tedious hour after supper. Weary as we were of the minstrels and disguisers, my two brothers and my husband were not averse to humouring me, for here was a man famed for his prophecy. Was he not held in high regard by our cousin King Richard? Why not allow him to paint for us the future? I had said. All was in hand for the campaign against the treacherous Irish, waiting only on the King’s final command for embarkation. Why not enjoy our victory before it was even won?

  We took occupation of a chill room in the Palace of Westminster, a room that looked as if it had once stored armaments but was now empty, save for stools and a crude slab of a table more fitting for some usage in King Richard’s kitchens.

  ‘Tell us what you see of the future,’ I demanded as soon as the door was closed, lifting the purse at my girdle so that it chinked with coin.

  Yet still Friar John looked askance at me and my companions: my brothers Edward and Dickon, and Thomas my husband.

  ‘I will not,’ Friar John said. He lowered his voice. ‘It is dangerous.’ He glanced at the closed door, through which there was no immediate escape.

  ‘You will. I am Constance Despenser, Countess of Gloucester. I know that you will not refuse me.’

  ‘I know full well who you are, my lady.’

  I pushed him gently to a stool, with a little weight on each shoulder to make him sit, which he did with a sigh while I leaned to whisper in his ear, the veils, attached with jewelled clasps to my silk chaplet, fluttering seductively. ‘We will reward you, of course.’

  ‘He’s naught but a cheap fortune teller.’ Thomas drew up a stool with one foot and sank onto it. ‘A charlatan who would tell any tale for a purse of gold.’

  I did not even grace Thomas with a glance; to mock our captive priest would not warm him to our purpose. ‘The King goes to Ireland,’ I said. ‘Tell us of his good fortune. And ours.’

  ‘But not if you see my death,’ Edward grinned. ‘If you do, I expect you to lie about it.’

  I passed a coin to Friar John who, suitably intimidated, took from a concealment in his sleeve two golden dice, placing them on the uneven surface of the table.

  ‘I like not dice prophecy,’ Thomas growled.

  But Friar John, now in his métier and with the prospect of further coin, was confident. ‘It is what I have used to give the King a view of the coming days, my lord.’ Picking up the dice, with an expert turn of the wrist he threw them. They fell, rolled and halted to show a six and a six.

  ‘Is that good?’ Dickon asked, leaning his weight on the table so that it rocked on the uneven floor, until I pushed him away. He was Richard of Conisbrough when formality ruled, which was not often in this company. He was my younger brother by at least ten years.

  ‘Too good to be true.’ Thomas was scowling. ‘I recall the King had a pair of loaded dice, a gift when he was a child, so he could never lose. Until his friends refused to gamble with him. They were gold too.’

  Friar John shook his head in denial, but more in arrogance. ‘There is no sleight of hand here, my lord. This is the most advantageous throw of all. The number six stands for our lord the King himself. It indicates his strength. This shows us that England is a paradise of royal power.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Edward said, arms folded across this chest. ‘Throw again.’

  Friar John threw again. Each one of the die fell to reveal a single mark.

  ‘Is this dangerous?’ I asked. ‘Does this single mark then deny the royal power?’

  ‘Not so, my lady. This means unity. There is no threat against our King.’

  ‘None of this has any meaning!’ Thomas slouched on his stool, his chin on his folded hands, his solid brows meeting above a masterful nose, marring what might have been handsome if heavy features. ‘I swear it’s all a mockery. Don’t pay him.’

  ‘Again,’ I said. ‘One more time.’

  Another throw of the dice to show a three and a three. Friar John beamed. ‘Excellent: the Trinity. And three is half of six. So to add them – three and three – means that the King remains secure. The campaign in Ireland will bring nothing but good.’

  He collected the dice into the palm of his hand and made as if to secrete them once more into his sleeve, relief flitting across his face.

  ‘Not yet.’ I covered his hand with mine, for here, to my mind, was the true purpose of this venture. ‘Now throw the dice for us. What will our future hold?’

  With a shrug, he threw again. A two and a three. The three was the first to be revealed, then the two to fall alongside. From Friar John there was a long intake of breath.

  ‘What is it?’ Edward demanded. ‘Don’t stop now …’

  ‘When two overcomes three, all is lost.’ The friar let the words fall from his tongue in a turbulence, with no attempt to hide his dismay. ‘When two overcomes three, disaster looms. Two reveals disunity. Disunity threatens the King. It threatens peace. It is necessary to unite behind the King to prevent so critical an attack on the peace of the realm. Sometimes it is necessary …’

  He swallowed, his words at last faltering.

  ‘Sometimes what?’ I saw Edward’s fingers tighten into talons on our friar’s shoulder.

  Friar John looked up into his face. ‘Sometimes it means that the King is unable to hold the realm in peace, my lord. It means that the lords of the realm must unite to choose a new King. One more fit for the task.’

  ‘But we don’t need a new King,’ I said. ‘We are content with the one we have. We will unite behind King Richard to …’

  Thomas pushed himself to his feet with a clatter as the stool fell over. ‘Is that it? Is that all you see? It makes no sense.’

  Needing the answer, reluctant that Thomas should break up the meeting, I grasped his arm. ‘Does seeing it make it so, sir? Is this what will occur? Disunity?’

  ‘No, my lady. Not necessarily …’

  ‘So it is all nonsense. As I said.’ Thomas, freeing himself, was already halfway to the door. ‘Pay him what you think he’s worth and let’s get out of here. It’s cold enough to freeze my balls.’

  His crudity did not move me. I had seen the anxiety in Friar John’s eye. But before I could question him further: ‘Do you see me in the fall of the dice, Master Friar?’ Dickon asked.

  ‘I see no faces, no names, sir. That is not the role of the dice.’

  ‘Then where will you see me?’

  Friar John was unwilling to be dra
wn by a question from a mere youth, not yet grown into his full height or his wits. ‘I cannot say. I might see it in a cup of wine, but there is none here to be had.’

  He looked hopeful, but indeed there was nothing of comfort in the room, except the heavily chased silver vessel that Thomas had brought with him.

  ‘Then you can take yourself off, Master Dissembler. You’ll get no more from us, neither coin nor wine.’ Thomas held the door open for him.

  But Friar John was staring at his hands, laid flat against the wood, fingers spread. His eyes stared as if transfixed by some thought that had lodged in his mind.

  ‘What is it, man?’ Edward asked.

  The tip of the soothsayer’s tongue passed over his lips, and his voice fell as if chanting a psalm at Vespers, except that this was no religious comfort.

  ‘When a raven shall build in a stone lion’s mouth

  On the church top beside the grey forest,

  Then shall a King of England be drove from his crown

  And return no more.’

  A little beat of silence fell amongst us. Until Dickon laughed. ‘Do we have to kill every church-nesting raven, then, to save King Richard’s crown?’

  Friar John blinked, looked horrified. ‘Did I say that? It is treason.’

  ‘No, it is not,’ I assured, hoping to get more from him before he fled. ‘Just a verse that came into your head from some old ballad from the north.’ I pushed Thomas’s abandoned cup in his direction.

  Friar John drank the contents in two gulps, wiping his mouth with his hand, and when we made no move to prevent him, he left in a portly swirl of black robes. He forgot to take the dice with him.

  ‘Well! What do we make of all that?’ I asked. A sharp sense of disquiet had pervaded the room, as if we had stirred up something noxious.

  ‘I have no belief in such things,’ Edward replied. ‘Do we not make our own destiny?’