Cicely's Second King

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘Not all. Merely that they loved each other in a way that—’

  ‘Mocked the Bible?’

  ‘She thinks much more of you than you realize, Sir Jon. Believe me. She told me so tonight, and I know her well enough to recognize the truth.’

  ‘He is still between us, and I do not think he will ever relent.’

  Jack smiled. ‘She is who must relent, Sir Jon, and she will. Eventually. If you want her without him, you may have to wait.’

  Jon glanced at him. ‘At least I do not have to battle you as well.’

  ‘Believe me, I would like to think you did.’ Jack grinned. ‘Just think, Sir Jon, if you and I had faced at Bosworth, we would have hacked the very flesh off each other.’

  ‘Richard very nearly did hack Henry’s flesh,’ Jon murmured. ‘I often wish he had.’ He nodded at Jack. ‘But now, I must go to her.’

  Outside, in the cold Christmas night, Cicely halted to draw a long, shuddering breath. She shook with the force of her emotions, her fury, her distress, her utter disbelief that Henry Tudor had allowed such a thing to be done. No, not merely allowed it, but ordered it. If he had not issued such an order, no one would have dared to do what was done to John of Gloucester. Or had Henry done it himself? As her father had when it came to his brother Clarence?

  ‘Oh, Richard,’ she whispered, ‘if ever I needed you, it is now. And you need me.’

  For a moment, just a moment, she was sure she felt his hand upon her shoulder, and the faint scent of the costmary. She closed her eyes. ‘Hold me,’ she whispered. ‘Hold me before I die of this new grief.’

  There was a tread behind her. She turned, Richard’s name on her lips, but it was Jon. The name hung there, half said, and then slipped away again.

  Jon put his palm to her cheek. ‘How are you now? The better for making a fool of the king in front of his court?’

  ‘I would do it again.’

  ‘I know.’ He had her cloak, which he put carefully around her. ‘That was quite a scene, Cicely.’

  ‘What he has done is unforgivable.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘John’s only crime is to be Richard’s son.’

  ‘No, Cicely, his crime was to have had his father’s permission to marry you, and for you to have been eager for it. Henry’s interest in you has not waned, as you seem to believe. And he does not like to be subjected to such a powerful attraction.’

  ‘I knew John before I even set eyes upon Henry Tudor.’

  ‘You think that alters it?’

  She bowed her head. ‘I want to kill him.’

  Jon glanced around uneasily, but there was no one else there. ‘Be more guarded, Cicely, because what you have just said is treason. It is treason to speak of killing the king, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, but I would still like to rip his divergent squinty eyes from their sockets! I would like to slice his cock like a parsnip and boil it!’ She struggled to compose herself. ‘Why did he leave John in such a pitiful state? Why did he not have mercy enough to kill him?’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘It is inhuman,’ she whispered.

  He gathered her to him, a comforting gesture, no more. ‘I wish I could say something to ease you, Cicely, but there is nothing. I, more than anyone, know how close you were to John.’

  ‘Only once.’

  ‘I realize that. You loved them both, father and son, but it was the father who meant the most.’

  ‘What would Richard feel if he knew this? It would break his heart.’

  ‘Cicely, he is no longer here to suffer more grief.’

  But he is here, Jon, he is with me all the time . . .

  ‘Your only consolation now must be that Jack at least is welcomed into Henry’s fold.’

  She remembered Henry’s threats. ‘Is he? What if Jack is to suffer as John has? Can you imagine him? Not knowing, understanding, seeming to see? Jack is so vigorous, so full of humour and purpose.’

  ‘I think Henry is a little chastened. He realizes his actions tonight have been seen as more than ignoble. I have warned you that he is . . . dangerous. He acts sometimes, and then, when it is too late, he regrets what he has done. And never forget that sometimes it is beyond his control. He cannot help what he does. Now, if Jack treads safely, he will survive. I pray so, for I like him.’

  She was able to smile a little. ‘It is impossible not to like him.’

  ‘How many virile Yorkist lords do I have to contend with?’

  ‘I do not love Jack that way, you have my word upon it. I am just very fond of him. He is noble. And so are you.’

  ‘If I am that, Cicely, you have to take more care that I do not face execution.’

  The words were said quietly, and she looked up at him in dismay. ‘Well, let us list my sins in Henry’s eyes. You, a princess of the House of York, became with child, supposedly by me, out of wedlock. I have made a noise about marrying you, an event Henry does not wish at all, and I have made it worse by making you my wife anyway, without a royal licence, and maybe even when you are already married to Scrope. I have been to John of Gloucester’s aid, in front of Henry, and I stood by, giving my silent support when you outfaced him. Again in front of the court. Now I have come out here to you, once more without his permission. Between us, we have affronted him a great deal, and whereas you provoke and stimulate him, I have most certainly crossed him. Do you not think so?’

  ‘When you list it like that . . .‘

  ‘There is no other way to consider it, Cicely. And I am about to fall foul of him still more by taking you to Pasmer’s Place, now, tonight, out of his way.’

  ‘But that will make it far worse for you! He has told me I must stay here!’

  ‘If he moves to stop it, I will see that you go to my sister at Coldharbour. She will shelter you. He will not attempt anything then. But I think Henry will stay his hand. I could see by his face tonight that he realizes he did not award himself a laurel wreath. Henry has turned John of Gloucester into a martyr in many Yorkist eyes. There is going to be considerable disapproval of this night’s work, and while my nephew’s view of things may be a little . . . odd, he is sharp enough when it comes to preserving his hide.’

  ‘So is a cur.’ She now loathed Henry so much that she could not be sensible, or civil. The nascent attraction she felt towards him in the Tower room had been exterminated by tonight’s events.

  ‘That is as may be, but it would be easy for him to remove me. Concocting false charges is not new to him.’

  ‘And this is all because you have tried to help me. I am so sorry, Jon, and even more sorry that I continue to do things that are not considerate of you.’

  ‘If you were meek and mild, Cicely, you would not be the woman I am so eager to protect.’ He made her look at him. ‘This present situation with Henry has to be brought to an end.’

  ‘How?’

  He hesitated, for what seemed quite a time, knowing what he had to say but clearly very reluctant to actually say it. ‘We need to be well away from him for a while. I will seek his permission to return to Lincolnshire, and to take you with me. I have to go to Wyberton soon anyway, there is business there to which I must attend. I will ask him publicly if I may take you with me, citing your indisposition due to being with child. The benefit of fresh country air, and similar rural joys. After tonight, he may well find it politic to let us go.’

  She looked at him. ‘I can tell you do not really wish to take me to Lincolnshire, Jon, and not because you fear Henry.’

  ‘You misread me, Cicely.’

  ‘No, I do not. Why are you so very reluctant?’

  He took her hand and drew it swiftly to his lips. ‘You are mistaken,’ he said again.

  She had to accept, but she knew there was something important he was not telling her. ‘So . . . you will remove me to Pasmer’s Place tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you stay there with me?’

  ‘I will be in the house, yes.’

  She studied him in the
torchlight. ‘But not with me.’

  ‘Not with you.’

  ‘I am your wife, Jon, and I would dearly like you to be with me. With me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But why? Can you not see that I mean what I say?’

  ‘You also meant the name I heard on your lips a few minutes ago, before you knew it was only me who approached.’

  That night, as she lay alone in the bed at Pasmer’s Place, she made Richard come to her. She knew she did it and knew she should not, but on such a night she needed him so much that it was unendurable. He was the only one she could turn to in this, the only one, and even though he was not real, she would have him with her again for a brief, imagined respite.

  He lay next to her and held her close. She did not need words, only to be close to him, and be honest as with no other. Words were not needed. It was as if his heart were within her, beating with the same intolerable grief. The tenderness and honesty were too powerful, the love too humbling, and the comfort overwhelming.

  At last she had to speak. ‘Please do not say again that I invent you. Not tonight. And do not leave me before dawn. I ask nothing more than to sleep in your arms.’

  ‘Then you shall, sweetheart. You shall.’

  ‘Richard, I know that I must give you up, but first I must still cleave to you. Please say you understand.’

  He kissed her softly. ‘I understand. How can I not? For I am you.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was almost time to leave for Lincolnshire. Cicely waited in her bedchamber on the first floor, looking down into the brilliant January sunshine that filled the yard. Everything was in readiness for Sir Jon and Lady Welles to set off. There were attendants, saddle horses, men-at-arms, carts and packhorses. Not a huge procession, just enough to transport the household to the wilds of the east coast. Jon’s banners were much in evidence—a rampant black lion on a yellow background.

  There was also a covered litter, should Cicely feel too unwell to ride, but she did not wish to travel that way. Litters reminded her of Richard’s queen, Anne, who had travelled in one when she left Westminster Palace with Richard on a royal progress, hoping to see her adored only child, the Prince of Wales. She had returned in a state of complete collapse because the prince had died suddenly, aged only ten. Richard had been grief-stricken as well, but may as well have returned alone. He was already a widower.

  Cicely was not superstitious. At least, she thought she was not, but nothing would induce her to travel in a litter when she was with child. Providence would surely be tempted. Maybe her child would be lost, and maybe Jon would return to London a widower.

  She still did not know why he was so loath to take her to his lands. When asked again, he denied it so convincingly that she almost believed she had imagined it in the first place. But the doubt remained, and she would have to wait to see what Lincolnshire held.

  In a week’s time Bess would be married to Henry Tudor at Westminster Abbey. He would have delayed still longer had his advisers not warned he was alienating Yorkist support by not honouring his word to marry Edward IV’s eldest daughter. He had also alienated many by what had been done—or allowed to be done—to John of Gloucester. And so he had agreed on the wedding date. He would go on a royal progress not long after the wedding, but Bess would not go too. On that he was adamant.

  Cicely knew no details of the wedding arrangements, nor had she been invited, even though Margaret had attempted to persuade Bess. The sisters had still not spoken. The fissure between them had become a chasm, and was just another pressing reason to be glad to leave London.

  She wore bluebell velvet trimmed with white fur, and there was a hooded, fur-lined grey cloak waiting over the back of a chair before the fire. She was at the window because she awaited Jon’s return from some royal business at the Tower. She did not fear for him, because it was a duty he carried out weekly when he was in London. There was little threat of him being detained on some pretext or other, because Henry had granted his permission for them to leave the capital.

  Cicely had to hold back tears when she thought of John of Gloucester. She longed to go to him, hold him and make him remember, but she knew it was pointless. He had become a body without a person inside. His father had become the opposite, a person without a body to occupy. Richard was elusive, only stepping out of the shadows when she begged. But sometimes she could not create him, and those were the times when she was most conscious of her loss.

  There was a sudden disturbance in the yard, and she was roused from her thoughts as a cavalcade rode in and found no room because of the waiting train. Jon? No, it was not Jon, but Henry! Royal banners streamed, red roses, red dragons, royal colours and livery. Henry was on a fine roan mount, and managed it well enough as it capered around, unnerved to find itself suddenly confined. He was angered because several moments passed before a Pasmer’s Place groom took the bridle to steady the uneasy animal enough for him to dismount safely in the press.

  She heard him curse as he flung a leg over the pommel and jumped down. He wore black brocade beneath a sleeveless fur-edged black coat, and the elaborate livery collar he had first worn at Christmas. There was a fine brooch on his black velvet hat, and his long hair fluttered. He had clearly ridden briskly in the sunny if chill January air, but he was pale and appeared unexpectedly frail. He almost threw the reins at one of the servants, and then looked around, pulling his gauntlets tighter and flexing his fingers. He paused on seeing the litter, and then suddenly glanced directly up at her, almost as if sensing her. Their eyes met before she drew back.

  Dismayed, she waited for Mary to rush up to inform her that the king was here, and sure enough, the maid was truly panic-stricken. ‘My lady, it is the king—’

  ‘And he is right behind you, wench,’ Henry said, striding into the bedchamber, and bowing his head beneath the door lintel. ‘My lady?’ he said to Cicely.

  ‘Your Majesty!’ Cicely sank into a deep curtsey. ‘I fear my lord is not here.’

  ‘I am aware of that. It is you I wish to see.’ He had removed his gauntlets, and slapped them impatiently against his palm as he jerked his head at Mary. ‘Leave.’

  The maid almost ran from the room, and to Cicely’s increasing dismay, Henry closed the door behind her.

  ‘You would have departed without a fond farewell, Cicely?’

  ‘You did not summon me, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Ah. An oversight.’ He tossed the gauntlets on to a table. ‘However, as I too will soon leave London, I thought I would accord you the respect of a proper farewell.’

  ‘You do us a great honour.’

  ‘So I do. I go on my progress after my wedding, but then you already know that.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Am I not to be Henry now?’

  ‘It does not seem appropriate.’

  ‘Fuck that. Call me Henry.’

  ‘Will you take your queen with you after all?’

  ‘No, I will not. She is as displeasing to me as ever.’

  Cicely looked at him, and then away.

  ‘Do I detect a little frostiness in your manner?’

  ‘This is the first time I have seen you since Christmas, Your M— Henry.’

  He rubbed his eyebrow. ‘Christmas. Yes. Well, I suppose there is nothing I can say to rectify that situation.’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘I have upset everyone, including my mother and Siasbar. Jasper,’ he corrected. He waited, clearly expecting far more from her, and then almost shrugged with disappointment. ‘I believe I have set my cause back with you, but at least you speak to me, which is a vast improvement on the long, cold stare to which I was subjected that night.’

  ‘I do not wish to speak to you now.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, how I have missed this,’ he murmured. ‘You preoccupy me a great deal, Cicely.’

  She did not respond.

  ‘I am sorry you will not be attending my w
edding. I fear my bride is quite determined to exclude you. I am curious. Why are you and she at such odds? I would like to think you have fought over me, but that is so unlikely as to be from the land of cuckoos.’

  ‘Take heart, because—strangely enough—she resents it that you have singled me out.’

  He looked at her. ‘And?’

  ‘And then she and I disagreed about something else, and that was that.’

  ‘And the something else was. . . ?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘The original something and nothing?’

  ‘Yes, Henry.’

  ‘Tell me the truth.’

  She met his eyes. ‘I would have thought you had more important things to do than delve into women’s arguments.’

  ‘Yet again I neglect my kingly duties to the realm?’

  She forbore to reply.

  ‘Well, in one important respect I have not neglected my duty.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean your sister. She is certainly not a rewarding armful, I can tell you. She gave what she had, I took everything and left her to think about it.’

  Cicely stared at him. ‘You have . . . lain with Bess?’

  ‘Well, it was more a quick dibble against the wall, but it achieved its purpose.’

  Cicely continued to stare at him. ‘You raped her?’

  ‘Certainly not. What do you take me for? Now you insult me, Cicely. She was willing enough, but she was not you. Which is why it was over and done with apace.’

  ‘Are you sure that was her fault?’

  ‘Oh, how droll.’

  ‘Why did you tell me this?’

  His wandering eye was not fixed upon her as steadily as its fellow. ‘I do not really know. You goad me, I think.’

  ‘So, you still blame me?’

  He tossed his hat down with the gauntlets and turned away, his reddish hair alight in the sunshine streaming through the window. ‘I blame you for everything, Cicely.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He glanced around to incline his head with utter insincerity.

  Cicely could not hold her tongue. ‘And I blame you for what has been done to John of Gloucester.’

  ‘Ha! At last! I am surprised you have taken so long to tell me. I expected decapitation within a few seconds at the most.’