She watched him dismount at the palace steps. The yard was filled with horses; his men in clothes as black as his, but with his white boar emblazoned on their breasts. He looked at no one as he hurried up the steps into the palace, and only one figure went after him. John, also clad in black. She stretched out a little more, to see him for longer as he followed his father. He glanced up, his taut face a measure of the sorrow he shared with Richard and Anne, but he knew Cicely was there, for he smiled briefly before disappearing into the palace.
Anne’s litter moved on towards a side door, from where she could be helped out of it and carried up to the royal apartments. Her head lolled and she seemed almost grey, as if what little spark there was in her had been snuffed. She saw nothing, said nothing, and knew nothing as she was borne into the palace.
Cicely watched the rest of the procession stream into the rain-drenched yard, the horses hanging their proud heads as reluctant servants hastened out to their tasks, and then she went to find her sister.
She found Bess seated at her embroidery, her eyes bright, her lips tight. The needle flew in and out, and she did not look up as Cicely entered. They sat in silence for a long time, until at last Bess lowered the needle. ‘He will be mine, Cissy. Only Anne stands in my way.’
Appalled, Cicely leapt to her feet again and ran out. Her sister’s lust for Richard had begun to extinguish all the good that was in her. He would loathe her for what she felt and said.
For most of that terrible day the thunder rolled around the skies, vying with the persistent bells. In the humid palace the sounds were at war with one another and Cicely’s head rang with weariness. She longed to see John, but he had not come to see her, nor even sent a message. Sitting by the open window in her rooms, breathing in the lingering scent of the herbs as it lay strong upon the air, she wished the rain would stop so she could walk in the garden. At least it fell less heavily now and in the distance there was a break in the clouds, through which beams of sun reached down to the sodden earth. Soon she would be able to go out.
At last the storm became little more than a faint drizzle and, not even taking a cloak, she hurried down through the palace and out into the afternoon, where dampness floated like cobwebs in the brightening air. The grass was soft beneath her slippers and the hem of her gown soon became wet, but she did not care. The scent of blossom was sweet, and as she inhaled she heard the guttural grumbling of the storm in the distance.
She went to the part of the wall where she had been before, and leaned over to watch the boatmen as they plied their trade after acknowledging the king’s sorrow by staying ashore throughout the morning. Their voices were subdued, and when one of them laughed, the others scolded him. She noticed a large white swan bobbing on the water directly below her, and almost immediately it hissed and stretched up, wings flapping. She bent to pick up some tiny stones, and tossed them at it.
‘Do not threaten me like that, sir, or I will have your feathers to stuff my mattress!’
Almost as if it understood, the swan moved away, its black legs pumping through the water. Her reflection was broken, swaying wildly on the wavelets, and as it became gentle again, she saw she was no longer alone, for John was standing beside her.
She whirled to face him, her breath catching with pleasure. ‘John!’
He gazed at her. ‘Cicely. . . ?’
She saw the change in him. Richard and Anne may have lost a son, but he had lost his half-brother. ‘Oh, my poor John,’ she whispered, stretching out her hand.
He linked his fingers with her, and then suddenly pulled her close. ‘I have missed you so, Cicely,’ he breathed, his lips moving in her damp hair. ‘When it happened, I could hardly bear my father’s misery. I have never seen him like that before, not even when your father died.’
She held him tightly, pressing her face into the rich stuff of his doublet, savouring every second of their first embrace, even though the circumstances were so sad.
He drew back to cup her cheeks in his hands. ‘I feel as if we have been together all our lives. You feel the same, do you not?’
She nodded. ‘Of course I do, for I missed you every moment you were away.’
He bent forward to put his lips to hers. It was a far different kiss from the one they had shared in March, for now he made no attempt to hide his love. The kiss was long, sweet, and more exhilarating than Cicely could have ever imagined. It was her first true kiss, unhurried and not restrained by watching eyes, and she wished it would never end . . . wished it could lead to so very much more. Her body was awakened by desire, and the passion that swept through her now was new and so ravishing that she felt she might almost die of it. She breathed his name as restraint began to slip away from her. If anyone looked from a palace window they would see, but she did not care. Nothing else mattered, only him.
He was no less aroused, and so held her gently away. ‘Sweet God, I love and want you so much, Cicely.’
‘And I you.’ She could have wept for the ending of those blissful moments.
‘It would be better if we talked of something else, I think.’ He smiled self-consciously. ‘You rule my heart, my lady.’
She took his hand and kissed it tenderly. ‘I cannot believe this is happening, John.’
He closed his eyes as her lips caressed his skin, and then had to pull his hand away. ‘Jesu, I feel as if I will explode.’ For the first time he glanced at the palace windows, but there was no one watching. His father would put up with much from him, but not the public deflowering of a favoured niece!
Drawing a very long breath to steady himself, he looked at her again, and on impulse searched in his purse, bringing out a little golden ring set with a single sapphire. ‘Will you wear this for me?’ he asked, holding it out, and then smiling. ‘Oh, I do not mean on your fourth finger, for we would rightly be chastised for such speed and presumption. Maybe you could wear it on a chain around your neck? Oh, I do not know, nor do I care how you wear it, just that you do. It was my mother’s, and I want you to have it.’
‘But if it was your mother’s, surely you want to keep it?’
‘My father gave it to her when he was almost the same age as me, and now I want to give it to you. He will understand.’
‘Will he? I do not know anything about her, John, but it could be that he loved her and would not wish his ring to be on any other lady’s finger but hers.’
‘She was a lady in the Countess of Warwick’s household. They knew each other when he was in the earl’s household. Not long after I was born, she gave me to my father because she was to marry a brutal man who believed her to be a virgin. My father tried to prevent it, but she married anyway. Six months later her husband killed her; my father believes it was because he discovered she had a child. I know no more. My father saw that I was raised as his son. I have not lacked for love or luxury.’
Richard had been about John’s age when he became a father, and the thought raised uncertainty in her. ‘Have you . . . lain with many?’ Her cheeks were hot as she asked the question.
He smiled. ‘What would you have me say, Cicely? That I am as pure as you?’
‘No, for that would be foolish. You are a man; it is expected that you bed as you choose.’
‘Cicely, I have lain with others, but never with the feelings I have for you. You are so important to me that I cannot bear to think of ever losing you.’
‘You will not lose me, John of Gloucester.’ She slipped the ring on her little finger, which she then closed tightly to be sure it stayed there until she could put it on her favourite golden chain.
He put his arm around her shoulder, and they leaned together to look over the wall. She gave a little laugh. ‘I cannot believe how much I have changed since my father died.’
‘My father thinks you very wise.’
‘How very dull I must be.’
He shook his head. ‘No, for you to have won his favour so completely is a measure of how he respects you. You make your sister Bess seem most
immature.’
‘Do not say that. It is hard for her to know that she is no more than a useful bride to someone like Henry Tudor.’
‘And so are you,’ he pointed out. ‘The Tudor must promise to marry one or other of you, because only you two are old enough to consummate such a marriage. He needs the deed done as quickly as possible.’
‘He will never take the throne, John, never! And I would rather burn in Hell than lie with him! So would Bess.’
He leaned to brush her cheek with another kiss. ‘How fierce you are, my lady.’ Then he drew away. ‘I feel so guilty for being happy when my father is so sad. Do you know how he sees this bereavement? The loss of his son is God’s reprisal for taking the throne. Nothing anyone says will convince him otherwise; he can no longer seem to see that the throne is his by right of your father’s bigamy. He is so burdened with conscience that I begin to fear he will break beneath the strain. There is no one more loyal to him than me, and yet even I am concerned about his ability to rule now—as unsure as I think he himself is. He governs with his heart and not his head, and in these dangerous times that is a crime!’
‘But it is a fine heart, is it not?’
‘Aye, sweetheart, it is a fine heart, but will one day lead him into a folly from which no one and nothing will be able to rescue him. The queen looks nigh unto death and he sees her drifting away from him. Jesu, the night the news of Edward’s death arrived at Nottingham, he was so stricken, so overcome with grief, that when someone was heard to suggest he should put the queen aside and marry a healthy bride, Jesu, I thought he would kill the fellow with his bare hands. No, he will never put Anne aside, and so he will have to name an heir, probably his sister’s eldest son, the Earl of Lincoln, who, incidentally, is expected here imminently. He has been in the north in connection with my father’s affairs there. I will like to see him again. I like Jack of Lincoln.’
Cicely thought of her dashing twenty-two-year-old first cousin, whom she had always liked very much. She also coveted the amethyst ring he always wore. It was such an amethyst. ‘Jack will be a worthy heir, but it seems so wrong that Richard has you, so strong and healthy a son, yet cannot name you to succeed him.’
‘Ah, such is the fate of royal bastards.’ He smiled. ‘I speak as one to another, of course.’
‘Of course.’
His humour was brief. ‘Sadly, I think Anne herself will solve the problem. She thought herself unnoticed but one day just before news arrived at Nottingham of the prince’s death, I saw her cough into her handkerchief and it was specked with blood.’
Consumption! Cicely crossed herself. ‘Oh no. Is that not how her sister Isabel, Duchess of Clarence, died?’
John straightened suddenly. ‘Listen! Is someone calling you?’
They looked towards the palace, and there came the sound of a woman’s voice. ‘It is my mother! Whatever possesses her to call for me herself? I had best present myself immediately.’
Seizing his hand, she hurried towards the palace, where they encountered Dame Grey just inside the doorway, still with her walking stick, although her knee had mostly recovered.
Elizabeth’s eyes moved over her daughter, whose fluster was plain to see. Her glance flickered to John, who met it squarely. Her arched eyebrow was raised, but she turned to Cicely. ‘The queen wishes to speak with you, madam. Urgently it seems. I despatched a page but he could not find you! God’s blood, girl, you look like some serving wench, more at home in a tavern than a palace. You shall not present yourself thus but will change at once. Come!’ Without a further glance at John, she seized her daughter’s elbow, but Cicely stood firm, refusing to allow her arrogant mother to so slight him.
‘Mother, I will present to you John of Gloucester.’
Elizabeth looked sourly at her daughter but was forced to acknowledge the son of Richard Plantagenet by coldly inclining her head. He was partly in shadow, and his resemblance to his father was once more apparent in the faint smile upon his lips as he bowed over her hand.
Minutes later, in the rooms Cicely shared with Bess, Elizabeth studied her second daughter closely as she presented herself for approval.
‘I am ready now. Do I look well enough?’ Cicely asked.
‘As much as you ever do in black,’ was the discouraging reply. Then the hawk-eyed Elizabeth noticed the chain that was newly around her neck. It was long, and disappeared between her breasts. ‘It is some time since I have seen that. Why do you suddenly wear it again?’
‘Impulse.’
Elizabeth gazed at her. ‘What do you wear upon it?’
Cicely drew away. ‘Nothing, Mother, it is just a chain.’
Elizabeth stood suddenly and caught the chain, pulling it into view before Cicely could prevent her. Seeing the ring, Elizabeth exhaled. ‘So . . . you have a love token. John of Gloucester, one imagines.’
‘Yes.’ Cicely took the chain from her mother and dropped the ring between her breasts again. ‘Is my appearance now suitable for me to present myself before the queen?’
‘Well, it is a vast improvement on previously, when you looked like a common whore after rolling in the grass with Richard Plantagenet’s by-blow.’
‘I had merely been out walking, Mother, not anything else. Why must you always be so unpleasant? I marvel Father ever desired you to the extent he clearly did.’
‘Be unattainable, my dear, and you will achieve anything you want from men. They are ruled by their lusts. Believe me, this is good advice.’ Elizabeth gave a very small smile. ‘I had thought better of you than to pant after a king’s bastard!’
‘Why so, Mother? Like clings to like, after all a bastard is what you and my father have made of me.’ With a stony face, Cicely curtseyed and swept from the room.
Richard’s queen lay upon the huge royal bed, supported by many rich cushions; her face was ghastly, her huge eyes silhouetted by dark, bruised shadows, and her hair hung limply against her breast. She held out her hand to her husband’s niece, and dismissed her ladies. When they were alone she leaned wearily back against the cushions and closed her eyes.
‘Cicely, I wish to have you near me. In my inner household, where only those I truly depend upon can come. You are only young, I know, but I also know, by the respect the king has for you, that I will be able to place my faith in you. Forgive me for wanting to lean on you so much, but I need someone to talk with, to share my sorrows with, and my ladies, even those most close until now, simply will not do. There has to be one special person to whom I can turn for everything of an intimate nature. There is no one else here with whom I feel so completely at ease. I can no longer be truly myself even with my dearest lord, with whom I once shared everything, because I need to hide so much from him.’
Cicely’s heart was filled with compassion, but part of it rejoiced to hear Anne call Richard her dearest lord, because it meant she did love him truly after all.
Anne paused as a fit of coughing overtook her, and when she took her handkerchief away from her mouth, Cicely saw the spots of blood that John had mentioned. The queen nodded. ‘Yes, the mark of death is truly upon me. Richard does not know, nor must he. To let him see daily proof of how much my health now fails would be to weigh him even more than he already is. I try to shield him from it. I have not been at his side as much as I wished, since—’ Renewed tears welled from her eyes. ‘Since we lost our dearest son,’ she whispered.
Cicely took her hand and held it gently. ‘I am so very sorry, Your Grace. And of course I will help you however I can, but surely the king has to be told?’ She found herself taking the soiled handkerchief and searching for another.
The queen pointed towards a cabinet. ‘They are in there. Cicely, he does not have to be told until it is unavoidable.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath, both to drive away the new tears and to regain the strength to continue speaking. ‘I should not confide this to anyone, but I have kept him from my bed by saying I am too frail. I will not even let him sleep at my side because I am so afraid tha
t I will be the cause of his death too. I know he needs me, just to hold me and share everything as we used to, and I do want him to be with me, so very much. There is no man more sensitive and understanding, more precious to me, but I could give this vile curse to him as well. Do you understand?’
Cicely’s eyes also filled with tears. ‘Oh, my poor aunt . . .’
Anne smiled a little. ‘I am ashamed to share the secrets of my marriage bed with you, a maiden, but if you are to help me, and understand me, you need to know how I truly feel. It is so comforting to be able to speak to you. Maybe it is the honesty in your eyes, and the staunchness of your spirit. I know Richard feels it, and even though I hardly know you, I feel it too.’
The queen tried to sit up a little, but found it too weakening, even with Cicely’s help. She paused to regain her breath and smiled as Cicely managed to put some more cushions where they would help the most. ‘It is because of the telltale blood that I wish to speak with you, for I must conceal my condition from Richard for as long as possible, and to do so I will need a helper, someone to take away my handkerchiefs and replace them with fresh ones without drawing attention. Someone to make me comfortable when I need it, without my having to instruct it. You have helped me twice since coming here now, and on neither occasion did I have to ask you. So my heart tells me to turn to you, even though you are of such tender years.’
‘I will do all I can,’ Cicely promised, reaching out to put her strong young fingers around Anne’s skeletal ones. ‘When do you wish me to join your inner household?’
Cicely's King Richard Page 11
