Succession

by Michael, Livi

  York, she was thinking. York is dead. Tears came into her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ she said faintly, ‘I must rejoin my men.’ She wiped her eyes quickly, surreptitiously. ‘I will need more men,’ she said. ‘And horses – and supplies.’

  Mary of Gueldres was one of those women who did not need to say much. Slight shifts of her face conveyed what she meant. Now she did not say that the Queen of England had no money.

  ‘We must come to some agreement,’ Queen Margaret said, beginning to pace. ‘I owe you a great deal already, and I will pay – everything – once my kingdom is restored. But I must go to London – I must rescue my husband the king from the hands of his enemies and have that monstrous act revoked and destroyed!’

  Queen Mary’s eyelids drooped as though in acknowledgement that she understood Queen Margaret’s position – she herself would be doing the same. Still, there was the little matter of funding so great a journey.

  ‘I have no money,’ Queen Margaret said, ‘but when all England is restored to me I promise you will not regret your kindness and generosity.’

  Queen Mary did not say that promises did not feed an army. Queen Margaret had half turned away from her, and it was clear that she was thinking.

  ‘My son, the prince,’ she said, ‘will marry one of your daughters – we have discussed it already.’

  One of Queen Mary’s eyebrows moved fractionally.

  ‘And – Berwick,’ Queen Margaret said, as if to herself. Then she turned back to the other queen. ‘You may have the town and fortress of Berwick for Scotland,’ she said.

  Queen Mary’s smile was full and broad. ‘We must draw up the agreements,’ she said.

  And so Queen Margaret travelled south that January in some style, wearing clothes given to her by Queen Mary – a long black gown and a black bonnet with a silver plume, accompanied by a handsome retinue. She rode hard through the bald landscape, impatient of all delays caused by the weather or by ice, so that the Scottish lords were impressed with her stamina and zeal. And her English companions could hardly get her to pause to listen to them.

  When they reminded her, for instance, that there was not enough money to pay her troops, or to supply so great an army with food all the way to London, she replied that they could plunder and loot – that was what armies were for. And since they would be travelling through territory that belonged to her enemies, that was a good thing – they should know they were destroyed.

  And when they suggested that perhaps she should not have given up Berwick, that contested territory which had for so long belonged to the English crown, she replied that it did not signify – her son was going to marry a Scottish princess and all the territories of England and France would one day revert to him.

  The little prince rode with her, or on his own horse when he was able, or in a small carriage, his pale face looking out on to the frozen land that would be his with eyes as bright and unblinking as a bird’s.

  I have heard it said that the northern lords will be here sooner than men expected, I have heard within three weeks … in this southern country every man is very willing to go with the lords here and I hope God will help them, for the people in the north rob and steal and be agreed to pillage all this country …

  Paston Letters

  50

  Duchess Cecily Hears the News

  Something odd had happened to her breathing, something that disturbed the action of her lungs, so that each breath was quite different and distinct from the next: this one retaining the air too long; the next one interrupted on the in-breath, shaky on the out.

  It was as though she had forgotten how to breathe.

  Or as though she were attempting to breathe in a place where no air was; at any rate, she was peculiarly aware of the labouring of her lungs. And her heart – her heart was struggling like some wild thing that had been buried alive.

  In the days after hearing the news she felt as if she were warding off some terrible thing, some vast danger or calamity – as though there could be a worse calamity, as though her life were not already in a state of collapse. She could not see or think or plan ahead more than a few moments into the future. Because now that future seemed to her like a wall with no point of entry, or a blankness in her mind.

  Her husband, whom she had loved … but she couldn’t finish the thought. It was as though there was nothing left to think.

  She could not remember a time when she had not loved him. Before him, there was nothing; after him, that nothingness was threatening to engulf her.

  In the moments when she was not thinking, he was with her. She thought she heard him once reciting the names of all their children who had died.

  They’d had together thirteen children.

  In other moments she thought that she felt something – almost intangible, but still a feeling – as though her second son, Edmund, had slipped his hand into hers, the way he used to as a child, sucking the thumb of his other hand. He was always more affectionate, more companionable, than her other sons; always a little overshadowed by his older brother. And then it threatened to undo her: she could feel a trembling inside, could not release the muscles of her jaw for such trembling, or rise for the weakness in her legs.

  And so she remained in her room, awaiting news of her eldest son.

  The Earl of March [when he heard the news of] the death of his father and loving brother was wonderfully amazed with grief, but he removed to Shrewsbury and other towns on the River Severn, declaring to them the murder of his father and his own jeopardy and the ruin of the realm. The people on the Marches of Wales, which above measure favoured the lineage of Mortimer, gladly offered him their assistance, so that he had a puissant army of 23,000 ready to fight against the queen. But when he was setting off news was brought to him that Jasper, Earl of Pembroke, and James Butler, Earl of Wiltshire, had assembled a great number of Welsh and Irish people to take him captive to the queen …

  Hall’s Chronicle

  The Earl of March desired assistance of the town for to avenge his father’s death, and from thence went towards Wales, where at Candlemas he had a battle at Mortimer’s Cross against the Earls of Pembroke and Wiltshire …

  Brut Chronicle

  [And so] the Earl of March met with his enemies on a fair plain near to Mortimer’s Cross on Candlemas day in the morning, at which time there appeared three suns and suddenly all joined together in one.

  Hall’s Chronicle

  The noble Earl of March fought the Welshmen beside Wigmore in Wales, whose captains were the Earl of Pembroke and the Earl of Wiltshire … and before the battle, about ten o’clock before noon, were seen three suns in the firmament, shining full clear, whereof the people had great marvel and thereof were aghast. The noble Earl Edward them comforted and said, ‘Be of good comfort and dread not – this is a good sign, for these three suns betoken the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, and therefore let us have good hearts and in the name of Almighty God go against our enemies.’

  An English Chronicle

  51

  The Three Suns of York

  It was so beautiful that for several moments he could hardly breathe or speak.

  Two lesser suns accompanied the main one on either side, connected by a luminous ring or halo. As though the sky were so pure, a crystalline blue, that it had become mirror-like in its purity, reflecting the sun to either side.

  His father, he thought, and his uncle, and his brother, translated into a triptych of celestial light. Tears stung his eyes as he contemplated the burning sky; its fierce, cold beauty.

  But he was aware of a rising moan from his men, almost a wail of distress, and several of them bowed over, hiding their eyes. They could not see what he saw.

  In a moment he had spurred on his horse and was riding among them.

  ‘Good people,’ he called. ‘Brave men and warriors – don’t be afraid. This is a good sign – a great sign of God’s favour.’

  He did not stop until they had all turned to
wards him; and he stationed himself so that the light of three suns shone on his armour.

  ‘These three suns – come this day, before this battle – are the three sons remaining to the House of York.’ He beat his hand against his breastplate. ‘Myself and my two brothers will carry on the cause and the name of York, and we will, all three, be gloriously reunited before long. Like the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.’

  He did not mention his murdered father, his uncle or his brother. They did not need a vision of the dead, but of the living.

  ‘So be heartened by this vision God has sent you,’ he cried, ‘and let us go before our enemies in God’s name!’

  There was a short, absolute silence, then a wave-like movement began through the ranks of men, and in one line after another they sank to their knees in prayer, until the whole army was kneeling on the frosted earth.

  Edward, Earl of March, sat on his horse and watched over them, thinking about his father, that dour and dogged man, whose mission he would now fulfil. The light of three suns was reflected in his narrowed eyes.

  [Edward of York] was very tall of personage, exceeding the stature of almost all others, of comely visage, pleasant look and broad-breasted … [in the field he was] earnest and horrible to the enemy, and fortunate in all his wars.

  Polydore Vergil

  The Battle of Mortimer’s Cross: 2 February 1461

  On 2nd February 1461, Edward, Earl of March, the Duke of York’s son and heir, won a great victory at Mortimer’s Cross in Wales, where he put to flight the Earls of Pembroke and Wiltshire and took and slew knights, squires and others to the number of 3,000. In that conflict Owen Tudor was taken and brought to Hereford … this Owen Tudor was father to the Earl of Pembroke and had wedded Queen Katherine, mother of King Henry VI. Believing and trusting all the way to the scaffold that he should not be beheaded until he saw the axe and the block and the collar of his red velvet doublet was ripped off. Then he said, ‘That head shall lie on the block that used to lie in Queen Katherine’s lap.’ And he gave his mind and heart wholly to God and full meekly he took his death …

  He was beheaded in the marketplace and his head set upon the market cross and a mad woman combed his hair and washed away the blood of his face and she got candles and set more than a hundred of them around him burning.

  Gregory’s Chronicle

  52

  One Hundred Candles

  It was happening, it was happening & I didn’t want to know it. All those people out there watching, including the priest, so I ran into the church & I beat my hands on the statue of the Virgin, till she spoke to me like sometimes.

  What are you doing that for? she says, and Get off my robe.

  ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ I say, only I’m stammering so bad I can hardly say anything, & so I bury my face in the folds of her gown & weep.

  Have you been a bad girl again, Mary? she says.

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘I haven’t – I haven’t!’

  But she knew all the same.

  Mary, Mary, she sighs. But I wasn’t bad – I wasn’t. What would she know about such things – being who she is?

  ‘Th-they’re k-k-killing him, M-m-m–’

  Mother, she prompts me. Now you know I can’t do anything about that, don’t you?

  I did know it. The times I’ve asked for things she couldn’t give. But this was different. They were killing him & his poor soul’d go to purgatory, which is a terrible place, full of owls & horseshit.

  I tell you what, she says, when she can see I’m getting worked up. Why don’t you tell me all about it?

  That’s her all over, hungry for news. She knows I have trouble telling my stories, but she likes to hear them anyway. She knows all the stories of the village. Everybody’s business stored up in that cool stone head.

  So I did. I calmed down & told her. How I was hanging round the alehouses again. And she tutted at me & said, Mary, in that tone of hers, but it’s warm in the alehouse & sometimes they don’t drive me away, but let me in for a bit of a dance in return for a drink or some pie. But this night they were in a mean mood & pricked my legs with their daggers to make me dance higher. And that’s when he spoke.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he says, ‘that’s no way to treat a lady.’

  No one ever called me lady before.

  ‘Tell her to get her great flat feet off the table then,’ someone said.

  He wasn’t pleased. He shook his head. Then he turned to me & held out his hand, just like a knight in one of them stories.

  ‘Madam,’ he said, & there’s that much catcalling & jeering I can hardly hear.

  ‘If you would care to allow me to escort you away from this uncouth company,’ he said.

  I could’ve said, Where to? To one of them barns where the hay’s frozen like needles and the rats chew your hair all night? Or back to your room, with you?

  But there he was, holding his hand out like a knight to his lady, so I took it & leaped down, landing with a great thump at his side.

  And he wrapped his cloak round me & we left, all that room staring after us!

  Then all the laughter & jeers broke out again & someone slammed the door behind us, but I didn’t care, with his fine soft cloak wrapped all round me.

  He asked me where I was staying & I said nowhere, & he seemed content with that. I wondered where he was staying & if he would take me to his rooms, for we passed another inn. But he led me round the back, to an outhouse, & a dog barked at us from behind a gate.

  Then he looked at me & said, ‘If you spend the night here you will be safe enough, so long as you leave early in the morning.’

  I understood by this that he was leaving, but I didn’t want him to go, so I caught his hand & kissed it, then I pressed it up against my chest where my heart was knocking like a prisoner, & the look in his eyes changed, becoming wary. Then he smiled & tucked my hair behind my ear & then he shook his head & sighed.

  And then he spread his cloak out, lovely, on the floor.

  At this the Virgin whistles through her teeth, the way she does when she’s displeased. But what does she know, being, as I’ve said before, a virgin?

  And when he’d finished his business with me he rose & said that he would like to keep me company more, but there was to be a battle in the morning, & he had to lead his men.

  That was a new one to me – not the usual reason they give, but I could see he wasn’t joking. So I said, ‘Will you come back to me after?’

  What I meant was, Will you stay alive? But it came out wrong.

  He smiled quite sadly & said no one could tell. Then he thanked me for my company & said he couldn’t wish for a more pleasant way of spending the night before a battle. And still I didn’t want him to go. So he took the ring off his finger & pressed it into my palm & told me to say a prayer to the Virgin for him.

  And he was gone then, slipped away into the shadows, like a cat or a fox.

  Or like all the other men you’ve ever known, the Virgin says. But I shake my head. ‘He was kind to me,’ I say, & she gives that little snort of laughter.

  Yes, very kind, she says, meaning he used my body.

  But I know men & she doesn’t, & that is the kindness they give.

  I can feel her withdrawing from me, very stern, because she always sees what’s in my heart. So I clutch at her stone robes & beg her to help, beg her to intercede for him like she’s supposed to. But she doesn’t answer for a long time. Then she says, See them candles?

  I look round. The church is full of candles, it having been Candlemas.

  Go into the chancel, she says, & there you’ll find a bowl of water & a cloth. Take them & clean his head up for me – I don’t want to see it all gore when he stands before me. Take it & clean him up & light all the candles you can see around him, so that I know which one you’re talking about – & I’ll see what I can do.

  At first I think she might be joking. She’s played tricks on me before, just to see the priest beat me. And sometimes I’ve p
layed tricks on myself, thinking it’s her that’s talking when it’s only the voices in my head. But I go into the chancel & there sure enough is the bowl of water & the cloth & a taper for lighting with.

  So I gather up all the burnt ends of candles into my gown & hold it above my knees with one hand & hold the basin & cloth with the other hand, & go out to the market cross to find him. Hoping I won’t find the priest instead, but then it comes to me that if he strikes me I can offer him the ring. It seems the right price to pay.

  All the people are scattering now in twos & threes, looking disappointed the way they do after an execution, like they expected something more – the Lord God, maybe, in a fiery chariot with a lot of fiery souls – & the bodies are being cleared away on a cart.

  At first I don’t recognize his among all the other heads – it looks different all drained of blood & the poor stump of its neck. Then I look to his hair, short grey stubble & the scar that stood out on his temple & see the pouches under the eyes. I don’t want to look, but then I tell myself that this is for him, this head lay on my breast & I kissed it, & I mop away the smears of blood & the dribble from his lips.

  ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ I murmur, ‘look after him like you said. Take this man to you & spare him the pains of purgatory, for he is a good man.’

  And I had a brief image of him being kind to her as he was to me, but I stopped it sharpish & I lit the candles so that she would know.

  And no one stopped me so long as I kept her name on my lips all the time while I was bathing his head & lighting the candles, & no one laughed at all.

  Not long after [the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross] Queen Margaret, with the prince, the Dukes of Exeter and Somerset, the Earls of Northumberland, Devon and Shrewsbury, several barons and many others to the number of 80,000 fighting men, came towards St Albans.

  Annales Rerum Anglicarum

  The northern men, with the queen and prince, made their way towards the southern parts and advanced without interruption until they came to the town and monastery of the English martyr Alban. In every place through which they came on both sides of the Trent but especially on this side, they robbed, plundered and devastated, and carried off with them whatever they could find or discover, whether clothing or money, herds of cattle or single animals, or any other thing whatsoever, sparing neither churches nor clergy, monasteries nor monks, chapels nor chaplains …