Cicely's Second King

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘Jasper disapproves of everything, especially me. What could it be, do you think?’

  ‘I have not exactly been in Henry’s confidence since marrying you.’

  ‘But he does not shun you.’

  ‘No. A member of the family is always useful, and my sister insists upon praising me at every turn. He does not like it, but he puts up with it. Cicely, the fact that you show me such high regard has transformed you in her estimation. If you love me, and I love you, she will always extend a welcome to you.’

  ‘And if she discovers we are not in love after all?’

  He looked at her. ‘She will not. From me, anyway.’

  ‘She has been good to me since learning about us,’ Cicely admitted, ‘but, in the past, it was not so. I did not like her.’ And still do not, came the afterthought.

  ‘You will have to relinquish your grip upon the past sooner or later, Cicely. Those days have gone.’

  ‘I know. Jesu, I know.’ She smiled. ‘But they were happy days, Jon.’

  ‘I will not ask you why, because I know already.’

  She gazed at him. ‘Will you kiss me?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. Please.’ To the Devil—no, to the Diawl—with Henry Tudor, she thought.

  Jon leaned closer and put his lips to hers. She reached up to hold his face, pulling his mouth closer and kissing it more sweetly than she had expected to. It made her blush, and she released him again.

  ‘What was that for?’ he asked.

  She smiled. ‘Christmas.’

  ‘A kiss for the season?’

  ‘Jon, I—’ She broke off as a tall young man in his early twenties appeared in the main doorway of the hall, flanked by guards. Although he was not bound, he was not free either. He commanded her full attention, for he was her handsome, dark-eyed, dark-haired cousin. Jack de la Pole, 1st Earl of Lincoln.

  He had not been particularly well treated. Not ill treated, just not shown the respect of his rank. Once—and still—regarded as Richard’s chosen heir, he cut a fine figure, even though his hair was unkempt and he was in need of a shave. He was always attractive and debonair, and rather well endowed when it came to virility, so there was never a lack of ladies wishing to be bedded by him. He had long been one of the most sought-after lovers at court. And, from all accounts, was well worth running to ground. Or mattress. His dark blue clothes she had seen before, but he was thinner now, and they no longer fitted as they once had. By the way his guards kept away from him as best they could, she thought he had been brought straight from a noisome part of the Tower, not the royal apartments. Even so, dishevelled as he was, his royal blood could not be denied.

  Jack was very dear to Cicely. He was an inveterate flirt, but never unkind, and was also steadfast, courageous, considerate and honest. He had held Richard in high esteem and would have followed him anywhere. To Cicely he was the rightful king because Richard had wished him to be so, and it was so good to see him again that she longed to greet him with a cousinly kiss and hold him close for a moment.

  Henry or not, she began to rise from her seat, but Jon held her back. ‘No, Cicely. This is Henry’s moment, do you not see it? He has been waiting for your cousin to be brought, and now waits for your reaction. And for pity’s sake, remember the imp.’ He made her settle back again.

  There was a stir in the hall as more and more people realized Jack was there. The music and merriment faltered and a gradual silence fell as he began to cross the floor towards the dais.

  Henry did not move, but sat rather casually on his throne, an elbow on the arm, his hand to his mouth, and it was not until Jack knelt at the foot of the dais that the king sat forward. ‘Well, my lord of Lincoln, I believe you have sworn fealty to me?’

  ‘I have, Your Majesty.’

  There were gasps, and Cicely lowered her eyes, know-ing how much it would have cost Jack to do such a thing.

  Henry descended the steps of the dais and raised Jack from his knees. ‘Welcome, my lord. I trust you will give me no cause to doubt you?’

  ‘I will not, Your Majesty.’

  Henry glanced towards her, as she sat at the end of the dais. ‘Lady Cicely—or is it Lady Welles?—I think you should tread a measure with your cousin, to assure him of his welcome.’

  She was rooted, but Jon squeezed her fingers harshly. ‘Do it, Cicely, but take great care. Great care.’

  She got up slowly, trying to appear unconcerned. She felt Bess’s enmity, and Jasper Tudor’s, and then the whole court’s attention as she made her way down towards Jack, who accorded her a deep, respectful bow.

  ‘My lady.’

  ‘Cousin.’ She inclined her head and then was mindful to sink into a deep curtsey to Henry. To her surprise, and the surprise of everyone else, he came to raise her with exceeding courtesy, even bending to kiss her cheek. Cloves. So pleasant, so unsettling.

  ‘I envy my uncle more each day,’ he said, knowing it would be heard. Then he indicated that the music and dancing should recommence. ‘Dance, my lords, my ladies,’ he said, and returned to his throne.

  As couples came quickly on to the floor to form lines, Jack extended a hand to Cicely and wrapped his fingers warmly around hers as they joined one of the lines. ‘Please forgive me for the aroma of the Tower’s murkier regions. The niceties of a bath have not been accorded me in some time. So, you are now Lady Welles? May I ask which Lord Welles has been granted such a prize as his lady?’ he enquired as they took their places to wait for the measure to commence.

  ‘My husband is Sir Jon Welles.’

  Jack paused. ‘Henry’s uncle? And my Lincolnshire neighbour?’

  Her fingers tightened with warning, and she turned to hide what she said. ‘Do you see the imp behind Henry? I am certain he reads lips and relays what people say, thinking themselves private.’

  ‘I understand.’ He stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. ‘Were you forced into the marriage?’

  ‘No. I married Jon gladly, Jack. He is a friend to me, and he protects me. Do not think ill of him. The baby is his; I lay with him at Nottingham. Do you understand my meaning?’

  He met her eyes. ‘I believe I do.’

  ‘It is important, Jack. He risks much for me and a careless word from you—’

  ‘Will never pass my lips, Cicely. You know that.’ He smiled. Warmly.

  ‘Do not flirt with me either, Jack. It is dangerous.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘Yes. I will not tell you why, but you must take care. The only man here whom you can be sure of trusting is my husband, but please do not burden him with anything treasonous. I hold him in too high a regard to allow him to be jeopardized.’

  Jack gazed at her, a little surprised. ‘You love him? So soon after Richard you can love another?’

  ‘I do not love my husband, Jack, but I do respect and appreciate him. No one will ever replace Richard. You know me too well to believe otherwise. I carry him in my heart and body, which my husband knows but protects me anyway.’

  ‘Jesu, Cicely, you have changed beyond all recognition.’

  ‘For the better, I trust?’ She smiled, moving as the measure began.

  ‘Oh, yes. If I could have bedded you before, I could do it twice as lustily now,’ he replied, turning as she moved around him.

  ‘Be very careful now you are at court, Jack. If you wish to live, you must not put a foot wrong, not only in the dance.’

  ‘Do you suspect me of duplicity, Coz?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You have no intention of remaining loyal to Henry. I know you, Lord Lincoln.’

  They circled gracefully, and as they came together again, she asked about John of Gloucester. ‘How is he, Jack? Does he know I am with child?’

  ‘No, nor can he even know you are married.’

  ‘I cannot bear to think how I have disappointed him.’

  ‘Cicely, he is not as you remember him.’

  ‘Not? Why?’

  ‘He has been tortured.’

>   Her steps faltered and she halted, indifferent to the confusion she caused among the dancers behind.

  Jack glanced around nervously. ‘Cicely?’

  She could not move, and her face had gone so suddenly pale that Jack feared she would faint, and so he put a supportive arm around her waist. There were gasps as she sank a little against him, and once again the merriment halted. The noise dwindled into a swirl of conversation as Henry sat forward but did not say anything. The imp’s gaze did not waver from the scene of the disturbance, darting from first one pair of lips to another.

  Jon hastened over, and Jack was relieved to relinquish her. ‘What happened, my lord?’ Jon asked him.

  ‘I do not really know.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Jon glanced at the dais. ‘And beware, for your lips will be read.’

  ‘I have already been warned.’ Jack moved closer and spoke very softly and invisibly to the imp. ‘Forgive the Tower stench, sir, it cannot be helped. No royal apartment for me, I fear. However, I told Cicely that John of Gloucester has been tortured.’

  ‘Why in God’s own name did you do that?’

  Jack flushed. ‘Because she asked me about him and because he will be brought here tonight, as I have been. I attempted to prepare her. I did not for a moment think—’

  ‘You should have done. She is six months with child and has not been well.’

  Jack nodded. ‘I deserve the rebuke, my lord.’

  Jon looked at him with the briefest of smiles. ‘I am harsh, my lord. But she means a great deal to me.’ He lifted Cicely from her feet and carried her to a vacant seat at the side of the hall.

  Jack hesitated, and then followed, feeling culpable even though he was sure he had done the right thing. To have left her unknowing until John was actually brought to the hall would have been far worse for her. He glanced accusingly at Bess, who had not moved at all to assist her sister. Jasper remained where he was, his face and expression dark. Jack had been questioned by him at the Tower, and could tell that the new Duke of Bedford not only knew what was yet to come, but was angry about it.

  When Cicely was seated, Jon snapped his fingers for wine to be brought, and then held the goblet to her lips. ‘You have to be strong, sweetheart,’ he said gently, his vivid blue eyes filled with concern.

  She managed a smile. ‘I am sorry, Jon. It was suddenly too much.’ She looked up at Jack. ‘I do not blame you, Jack, because I know that if you could have left it unsaid, you would. He is bad, is he not?’

  ‘He does not know me, sweetheart.’

  On the dais, Bess suddenly caused a new disturbance. She asked something of Henry, who nodded with some annoyance. Accompanied by the Duchess of Bedford—who clearly did not want to go too but felt obliged to—she walked stony-faced from the hall, followed by the ladies Margaret had assigned to her. It was a calculated snub to Cicely, and everyone present knew it. Including Henry.

  Margaret, now Countess of Derby, came to her half-brother’s wife. Her ladies came with her, and in a moment Cicely was surrounded. Jon and Jack withdrew hastily and stood together, their backs to the dais.

  ‘We meet again, my lord of Lincoln, although not as enemies this time,’ Jon said, inclining his head.

  Jack smiled. ‘I trust we can be amicable Lincolnshire neighbours, Sir Jon, even though we support opposing roses.’

  Jon returned the smile. ‘I see no reason why not, my lord. My wife is clearly fond of you, which is a recommendation in my eyes.’

  ‘And I am fond of her. We are friendly cousins, that is all. Not for want of wishing on my part.’ Jack grinned.

  Jon nodded. ‘Knowing your reputation, I warn you not to show my wife undue attention.’

  ‘I protest, sir, for I have not—’

  ‘I do not imply that you have, my lord, but in my wife’s case you would arouse resentment from a quarter you really would prefer not to.’

  Jack gazed at him, light suddenly dawning. ‘Henry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought he was entirely without carnal urges.’

  ‘You are very wrong, sir, so just beware. He was very well aware of the fair sex in Brittany. Too damned aware, as it happens. And please remember that he is my nephew.’

  ‘Sir Jon, I think maybe you should remove your lady from the hall before John of Gloucester is brought.’

  ‘He is that bad?’

  ‘Yes. He was as well as me until they began to pay him particular attention. I do not know why.’ Jack looked past Jon at the entrance. ‘For the love of God,’ he breathed.

  Jon turned, and his lips parted in dismay, for Richard’s illegitimate son was there, and was a pathetic shadow of his former self. His powder-blue velvet clothes were those he had worn at Sheriff Hutton, but they hung pitifully. His eyes were dark-shadowed, and he gazed at nothing in particular. He was empty, with no trace now of the vital, charming young man he had once been. And of whom Richard had been so proud.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Richard’s much-loved son was eighteen now, tall, with long, silver-fair hair and his father’s grey eyes, once so expressive, but now vacant. His hair was cast in shade by the entrance, so that his resemblance to his father was quite startling. But what had been done to him was abominably savage—another tragedy for Richard.

  Jon was appalled, and glanced quickly at Cicely, still too surrounded by ladies to know. ‘He has indeed been singled out,’ he said to Jack.

  ‘I had no idea he had been reduced to this.’ Jack was quite overcome as he watched John being almost bundled across the floor by the inconsiderate guards. ‘The king came one day recently, and was closeted alone with him. After that, John was misused. I imagine now that Henry’s interest in Cicely is at the heart of it.’

  Neither of them could bear to watch John’s humiliation, and as one they went to help him. There was an uncomfortable atmosphere in the hall. Richard’s son was in no condition to be dragged here like a cheap trophy. Some watched with distaste, some with great discomfort. The only ones to gloat were those who hated the House of York beyond all measure. Even Margaret was clearly shocked, as were her ladies when they at last turned.

  Jasper leapt to his feet. ‘Harri! Er mwyn y Tad!’ he cried.

  Henry’s eyes flashed at him. ‘Gwylia dy dafod!’

  Jasper left, without a bow or seeking permission. Cicely would later learn that he had said, ‘Harry! For God’s own sake!’ Henry had replied, ‘Guard your tongue!’

  Cicely finally saw John, and was overwhelmed with dismay and pain. Her beloved John, who in 1484 had won her fifteen-year-old heart with his smiles and gentleness, and with whom she had lain that one night at Sheriff Hutton, when they learned of Bosworth. How could anyone have done such terrible things to him?

  Jon and Jack assisted John to the foot of the dais, where they had to help him to kneel. He did not speak, and swayed so much that Jack had to place a steadying hand on his shoulder. Jon remembered how handsome, spirited and noble John of Gloucester had been, and could have wept for him.

  Henry was punishing Richard’s son for having aspired to Cicely’s hand. White-hot jealousy had driven him to this. It had ripped through his customarily restrained nature and riven his honour, and he knew too late that he had done his reputation no good by this act. He waved the guards to remove John, and this time they actually helped him, rather than shove him along when he did not know what was happening. His grey eyes, once so warm and clear, did not recognize anything or anyone. He certainly did not know the young woman he had loved, even though he looked directly at her.

  When he had gone again, Cicely rose slowly to her feet. The hall almost echoed as she crossed the floor towards the dais. Everyone knew she had once been intended for John of Gloucester, and that she had not been averse to the match. And everyone knew by her eyes and the proud tilt of her chin, that she was not about to prostrate herself to Henry Tudor.

  Henry knew it too, and also rose, slowly, like an unfolding cat. There was warning in every sine
w, but still the mouse approached.

  Jon did nothing to halt her. What could he say? He shared her outrage and knew her so well. Nothing would stop her when her Plantagenet fury and pride was aroused to such a pitch. Jack gazed at the floor. He was a Plantagenet too, and silently supported her as she at last halted before the dais. She did not curtsey, she did not even incline her head; she simply looked at Henry with such loathing and contempt that he should have withered on the spot.

  ‘My lady?’ He spoke softly, but the great hall took up the sound.

  She did not reply, but continued to look at him.

  ‘If you have something to say, my lady, I advise you to say it,’ Henry said, his voice cold and clipped.

  Still her lips remained closed.

  Henry rubbed the lid of his wandering eye. ‘Madam, you try my patience.’

  She turned her back on him and upon his throne, and walked from the hall before he had finished speaking. She flouted all the rules of how to behave in the presence of the king. Her gown streamed over the stone flags, and the veil of her headdress floated and fluttered as she proceeded out of the royal presence. It was a magnificent departure, and dealt Henry many insults at once.

  The hall remained utterly silent as he gazed thoughtfully after her. That was all he did, except to gesture for the merriment to resume, which it did, but very unevenly. He returned to his throne and slumped there, his mouth stern, his eyes as hooded as ever.

  Jack glanced at Jon, remembering to deny the imp a view of his lips. ‘By God, he does want her. Poor Cicely.’

  ‘She hardly knows how she fans the flames with almost everything she does.’

  Jack nodded. ‘She is her father’s daughter. Edward IV could be the same, but with cruelty alongside the charm.’

  ‘Yes, but she is Richard’s niece as well, and he it is to whom she looks the most. Damn the man.’

  Jack looked at him. ‘A very difficult rival to defeat, I would think.’

  ‘Ah, yes, you know it all, of course.’