The Golden Widows

by Isolde Martyn

  A horseman’s horn sounded up near the hall gate.

  ‘Time to go, dumpling!’

  Whisking Cecily up into her arms, she walked briskly through the garden postern, past the vanguard of house leeks and beans along by the peletons of marjoram and chamomile and the spikes of lavender.

  ‘A messenger. From the king this time, Kate.’ Lady Bonville, with a couple of the hall dogs at her heels and Eleanor in attendance, had come out to find her. ‘He is waiting in the hall. The new steward has seen he is given refreshment.’ ‘Hell take it,’ muttered Kate and, remembering Cecily, clapped a hand across her lips.

  Her twelve months of mourning would be over by the end of January. What would be in this letter? Richard’s missives had become increasingly demanding. At first it had been: ‘Cousin Ned would welcome you to Westminster for Yuletide, dearest sister.’

  Followed by: ‘Come at Yuletide and see what a fine king I have made of Ned.’

  But she could read between the lines. Her sister Joan had warned her. Richard was husband hunting. Today’s letter, signed with royal aplomb by Ned, invited her yet again. There was an enclosure from Richard as well.

  ‘I desire you to come to Westminster Palace for Yuletide, for the eyes of the world are watching and it behoveth all our kinsmen to show loyaltie to our new king and cousin, and unitee thereof.

  Diverse times have I desired you to assure me that you will present yourself at court this Christmastide but you have hitherto not obeyed and accomplished the same, much to our lord’s the king’s displeasure and to mine also.’

  Before the final flourish of a signature, he wrote: ‘Mine own offices are so heavy and much multiplied, so that I desire to pass the guardianship of my niece’s demesne as soon as I may.’

  The head of the Nevilles was slamming his fist on the table.

  ‘I shall give you a letter of thanks to carry back to his highness,’ Kate informed the messenger when she received him in the hall. He did not salute and bow. Instead, he asked, ‘My lady, is your answer likely to be “no”?’

  That was an impertinent question.

  ‘What of it, sirrah?’ Her stare rose from the yellow leopards stitched across his blood-red surcote to canny old eyes surmounted by spiky, silver eyebrows.

  ‘Such a message will be more than my life is worth, my lady. “You bring back an ‘aye’ from my lady Harrington”, says my lord the king, “an’ you take no excuses.”’

  ‘Was my lord of Warwick present when the king said that?’

  ‘Aye, madame.’

  She laughed. ‘Good sir, I shall give you my answer tomorrow morning. You may stay at Shute this night.’ She watched him bow and leave the hall, then she went to have a storm and a rant in the solar.

  ‘But maybe you should go to Westminster, my lady,’ Eleanor suggested, bending down to play tickle-spiders on Cecily’s dirty palm. ‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’

  As a milk cow? she thought grumpily. But yes she would like to go. ‘I suppose Richard imagines if he doesn’t shove me into lawful wedlock with someone post-haste, I’ll run away with some penniless Devon nobody.’ Like Robert Newton.

  Lady Bonville snorted. ‘Ha, after all the slaying that’s been going on, it’s a wonder there are any noblemen left for marrying save hoary-headed widowers and hot-headed codlings.’ Then the old lady bit her lip and crossed herself, remembering Will. ‘I may be wrong but if your brother wants to give away Cecily’s wardship, Katherine, mayhap someone’s leaning on him for favours.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone ever leans on the kingmaker, madame. He writes that he is overloaded with lands, offices and trusts.’

  ‘Then maybe he wants to bestow favour on some fortunate retainer. Let us be practical, Kate. You have received a summons from the king himself and while kings are two a penny these days, unless you, my dear, are past breeding and there’s no land involved, you have as much choice in defying his will as catching the moon in a pail of water.’

  ‘But we are still in mourning. Richard and Ned are being quite unreasonable.’

  ‘Pooh, as if that makes a difference. Men with power are stubbon pigheads who always think they are right, are being told they are right by other men, and won’t be gainsayed.’

  ‘You should address the House of Lords on the matter,’ muttered Kate, but there was truth in Grandmother Bonville’s argument. ‘However, my brother cannot marry me to anyone if I am not there, don’t you see? Not habeas corpus but habeo corpus!’

  ‘Yes, I realise that’s your stratagem, my girl, but maybe your brother or the king will send his soldiers to make sure he shall have your corpus!’

  Kate gathered her little daughter into her arms. ‘But Grandmother, I don’t want to have Christmas without Cecily. This will be the first time she’s old enough to enjoy it.’

  Lady Bonville blew the little girl a kiss, and Cecily giggled and blew one back. ‘I believe this little poppet’s future is more important than her first Yuletide, Katherine. If you want a say in her guardianship, you won’t achieve it by staying out of reach.’

  Kate paced the rushes. ‘What if there is a rising?’

  ‘Pah, I’ll believe that when I see it,’ muttered Grandmother Bonville. ‘Kate, you can sit on your hands here until kingdom come or you can go and have a say in your child’s future. Clearly your brother is too beset with other duties and wants to unshoulder his duty to Cecily. If he can appoint a powerful lord to oversee her lands, then it will bring stability back to these parts. You and I have done our best, God knows, but our people will feel more secure with a man in permanent charge and you need to give your opinion on the matter. And with Henry Courtenay hobbled, I know I can keep Cecily safe while you are in London if that is what concerns you. You’ll only be gone a few weeks.’

  The restless yearning for change had been growing inside Kate. It was time.

  Eleanor added the last pinch of gold dust to tip the balance.

  ‘Consider also, my lady, you’ve never been to court.’

  Dancing beneath a hundred candles, flirting over the wine and sweetmeats? Westminster shimmered in her imagination and beckoned.

  Beckoned like a lover.

  Kate

  23rd December 1461, two days before the Feast of the Nativity

  Westminster Palace

  Crinkled, pink and restored after a steaming bath that had deliciously lapped her collarbones, Kate almost felt that the gruelling four-day ride from Chewton to London in freezing weather had been worthwhile. Almost…She cast a critical eye over her Sunday kirtle set out on the bed, and sighed because it was a mourning gown and out of style for court.

  Just riding through the courtyard at Westminster Palace and seeing her sisters arriving had been enough to choke her confidence; her best headdress was inches lower than anyone else’s and with her short stature, even if she wore one of the latest Burgundian caps, she would probably look like a chicken coop with a steeple.

  She groaned and shuffled across the chamber in her towel. ‘I was content with this until today,’ she said ruefully, picking up her best headdress and plucking at the cowardly gauze. Eleanor had restarched it at Chewton but the packing and the London damp had made it limp again.

  ‘Don’t you fret, my lady. Give me leave to seek Paris lawn and stiffener down at Cheapside this morning, an’ I’m sure I could copy the new styles by tomorrow.’

  ‘And it would take you all night. Thank you, Eleanor, I appreciate your offer but I should still end up looking more like a strutting pinnacle than a person.’

  ‘My lady, that’s not true. Besides, since you are cousin to his royal grace and—’

  ‘No one will dare snigger? No, it’s all done with raised eyebrows.’ Kate picked up the hand mirror and exercised her eyebrows. Only the left worked. ‘They’ll pick me to pieces like crows on a corpse.’ She shrugged and tossed the mirror onto the bed. ‘Nothing to be done but paste on a smi—’

  The imperative knock at the chamber door silenced
her and she quickly pulled across one of the bedcurtains and took refuge behind it. Probably one of the Lord Chamberlain’s men inquiring if she needed more hot water. Peeping round she watched as Eleanor warily opened the door. There was a brief, low-voiced argument and a momentary tussle over the door’s opening ability before a stocky, richly dressed man in his thirties limped in. For an instant, indignation swamped Kate’s reasoning. It was not until he unwound the liripipe that scarfed his throat and removed the crimson, rolled-brim hat that she recognised him; candlelight and fading daylight glinted on thick brown hair, far less ginger than hers, but familiar nonetheless.

  ‘My lord of Warwick,’ announced Eleanor, addressing the curtain with a roll of eyes.

  ‘Richard!’ Kate exclaimed, emerging from concealment. It was impossible to curtsey dutifully in a tightly wrapped towel, but she managed a deferential nod and a slight knee bend. After all, he was the head of the family and the foremost earl of the realm.

  ‘Oh,’ he exclaimed, studying the cocoon wrapping his second youngest sister from breasts to calves, but if he felt a momentary embarrassment, there was no apology. ‘Find something to do, girl!’ That was to a disapproving Eleanor, who looked to be still reeling from his insensitive refusal to return later; she darted a curtsey and retired to a corner.

  Kate had not seen Richard since her marriage day. The limp astonished her more than the deep vertical frown line, scoured above the bridge of his nose, or his flamboyant embroidered long cote, glinting with gold thread. He had not started wearing short doublets, she noted. Just as well, he did not have the legs.

  ‘Have you sprained something?’ She punctuated the question with a concerned smile, extending her free hand in welcome. Expensive musk assailed her as he kissed her on either cheek. His garments were cold and smelled of the outside air – a blend of frost and wood smoke.

  ‘This? A memento from the skirmish at Ferrybridge – the day before Towton,’ he explained, taking off his gloves and setting them on the chest at the end of the bed. ‘Do not get cold.’ Drawing her with him, he led her to the fire, where they each took up position either side like Gog and Magog. ‘The surgeon says it will dissipate with time.’

  ‘Before or after you slew your warhorse?’ The story was he had put a blade through his destrier, announcing he would fight on foot with the common soldiers. Was it true?

  The lordly nose wrinkled. ‘Let’s not talk about that, Kate. Sometimes it’s necessary to make a gesture.’

  ‘Very Roman, though rather a sacrifice for your poor horse. Well, it seems to have worked and put heart into your soldiers. Here we are.’ She gestured to include the palace’s tapestried walls and painted panelled ceiling. It was tactful not to mention their father or brother, or three generations of Bonvilles.

  ‘Yes, here we are.’ Gratitude for her forbearance gleamed in his eyes. Warmer now, he moved away from the heat and paused, staring at her supine black gown. ‘You are not wearing that tonight?’ He sounded like a husband rather than a brother.

  ‘I am a widow, in case you have forgotten,’ she replied gently, tempted at last to allot blame. ‘And I thought we were following the fashions from Bruges. Didn’t Phillip, Duke of Burgundy, make black acceptable?’ Her jibe slid beneath his guard; Richard had never had much time for the Burgundians.

  ‘Kate,’ he began, turning back to face her. ‘I am not sure how to couch this but the king is trying to put the past behind him. If he no longer outwardly mourns his father, nor should we. It is a year ago.’

  ‘Almost.’

  For an instant, an accusation of insensitivity quivered on her bow but she could not shoot that at him. Had he personally unhooked Father’s head from the gate at York, or had the mayor of York quickly ordered a discreet change of decoration before the victors arrived? Richard must have detected some hurt in her for he took a deep breath and tried again.

  ‘Mourning clothes might suit life at Shute but the eyes of the world are upon us now.’ Ah yes, the words in his letter. She gave him stare for stare. Why make it easy for him?

  ‘Lambkin,’ he persisted, digging out a name she had forgotten, ‘we are not trying to diminish those we lost but…for Lord’s sake, this is the first breathing space Ned has had since he was proclaimed king.’

  She did catch his meaning. Flaunting extravagance at this Westminster Christmas was like waving the banner of success at anyone still doubtful as to who the victors were. She looked away, suddenly finding the flames needed inspection.

  ‘Kate, are you hearing me? I promise you when I have the time, I shall arrange for Father to have a proper funeral at Bisham and we’ll all attend. Not a groat spared.’

  ‘That will please our mother.’

  Perhaps her tone was too sarcastic. She watched him prowl in the awkward silence, clasped fingers twitching behind his back, the gold chain of Yorkist sunnes and roses across his shoulders clinking as he moved. She had forgotten how he hated not to be taken seriously. If anything, that fault had been strengthened. Observing his splendour now, the great fur collar, sitting high at his nape, and the crimson long-gown trimmed with gris at his ankles, she recalled that even as a boy he had chosen clothes that gave him dignity among the older lords.

  ‘By God, I hope it will please you, too, Katherine, and the rest of the family.’

  ‘Then you must let me know how I can help you when the time comes, Richard.’ A verbal kiss of peace. Compiesse et joy, comfort and joy, like the new king’s motto.

  ‘Thank you, Kate.’ He must have been seeking safer ground too, for he asked, ‘I take it you are all happy with the steward I appointed at Chewton?’

  That unsettled her as well. ‘You are not thinking of shifting him somewhere else, I hope, brother, for he is very efficient and extremely good at dealing with Grandmother Bonville.’

  ‘Excellent, then.’ Another awkward pause. ‘And my niece thrives?’ A safe subject.

  ‘She is a darling.’ Then suspecting it was mainly Richard’s tenacity that had kept the House of York at war, Kate plunged her own truth into him like a blade. ‘I…I was with child when your letter about Will arrived, Richard, but I miscarried not long after.’

  He did not answer. Pain showed, followed by a compassion that softened his face, and she knew it was sincere, guessing he too must still long for a son.

  ‘I try not to be too protective of Cecily,’ she confided, feeling somewhat contrite now. ‘I think…I think about how Will would chide me for being foolish but sometimes I’m afraid… when you only have one.’ Dear God, she was missing the little mite dreadfully and now she was probably being womanly enough to bore Richard. ‘I wish your girls might meet her. They are well?’ He nodded. ‘And is Nan to be with you this Yuletide?’

  ‘No, she stays at Warwick.’ He ran a finger down the twisted carving of the bedpost. The bell in the gatehouse of the courtyard sounded the hour. ‘I had better go, let you get clothed.’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked down at her towel and pleated her lips.

  For a moment, her brother’s gaze lingered on her as a stranger’s might meeting her for the first time. She supposed he was trying to see the little girl he had carried on his shoulders, to reconcile the child with the woman. She watched him collect his beaver hat, and tuck it beneath his arm. Concentrating on drawing on his gloves, he asked, ‘Would you be offended if I ordered some tailors for you so you have something more suitable to wear tomorrow and at the Yuletide banquet?’

  He must have misread the astonishment on her face for he came across to her now and said softly so that only she could hear. ‘It can be done. Anything can be done from now on.’

  Ah, so it would be letting him down for her plumage to be at fault. Suddenly she could almost breathe the power and pride that emanated from him. Here stood the real ruler of the realm, not Cousin Ned in a diadem that only caught the sunlight when Richard’s shadow moved from off him. The cogs and wheels of the kingdom ran with the stream of energy that issued from her brother like a saint�
��s aura.

  ‘That would be most kind.’ What else could she answer?

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment. ‘Very well, then. Farewell for the moment.’ He drew her to him and kissed her forehead. ‘It is good to have you here, little sister.’ But his parting remark left her instincts rough-edged: ‘There will be rewards, I promise you.’

  It was joyous to be reunited with her brothers and sisters though Kate did not know many of them well. She had been sent to live with the Bonvilles from the age of thirteen and her older siblings had left long before that. But Joan, wife to Thomas, Lord Arundel, she remembered like a second mother and was much drawn to confide in her. Mind, Lord Arudel, a rather ill-tempered man, seemed mighty put out on Christmas Eve that the two sisters spent several hours together. Kate often caught him watching them that evening. She hoped he would not be called upon to be her darling’s guardian for Joan looked wan and hollow-eyed and it was an easy wager that theirs was not a happy marriage, which made her even more on guard about her brother’s scheming for her own future.

  But if Richard was thinking about her usefulness, he was keeping the matter shelved as though he guessed that his little sister was a tangle that needed patient unwinding.

  Kate found herself marvellously distracted by the festivities. On Christmas Eve, a great Yule log was hauled into Westminster Hall and set alight. After that, St George came a-knocking at the great doors with his fellow mummers, then Ned and his sister Meg led the carol dancing. At midnight, a rather inebriated court attended the Angel Mass in St Stephen’s Chapel, and at dawn, with bleary eyes, they met again for the Shepherds’ Mass. Later in the morning before the wassailing and the Christmas Banquet, the court followed the king in procession to a service in St Peter’s Abbey, then everyone returned to feast on boar’s head, goose and swan. There were tumblers, fire jugglers, who almost set the tableclothes ablaze, storytellers who kept everyone doubled in laughter, and much minstrelsy.

  In the evening when the candles were refreshed and the trestles had been set back against the walls, the pipers and tabor players returned and the lords and ladies danced, their satins and velvets like the rich hues of jewels as they moved with such grace about the hall.