Cicely's King Richard

by Sandra Heath Wilson

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You? Not think? Well, I suppose there has to be a first time for everything.’

  She met his gaze and then looked away again.

  ‘Cicely, you are not to let anything like this happen again. Is that clear? I will not tolerate your being intimidated in any way while at my court. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Do I have your word?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle.’

  ‘Sweet Cicely, your wellbeing is of the utmost importance to me. Always remember that.’ He smiled. ‘I know you can read me like a book, which is not a comfortable feeling, believe me, although I do manage to keep some important pages to myself, as no doubt you do from me. But between us there must always be trust, complete and inviolate. I cannot settle for anything less.’

  ‘There is that trust, Uncle.’

  He seemed about to say something else, but then dismissed her.

  The court remained at Nottingham until the final days of the autumn, when Richard at last decided to return to London. All through the summer Bess had hovered near him, like a moth to a flame, but he did not even seem aware of her presence. He was alone in this, because it had become plain enough to everyone in the queen’s household. She was not liked as a consequence.

  On a frosty autumn day before the court finally departed for the south, the ladies were gathered in Anne’s apartments to look at a newly arrived consignment of rich cloths. They stood in small groups, as near as possible to the flickering log fire, chattering and laughing as they examined the fine fabrics intended for the queen herself. It was one of Anne’s better days, and she was able to sit in a chair by the flames, inspecting the beautiful silks, velvets and brocades as they were displayed before her.

  Cicely was among the ladies and discovered a soft blush-rose satin that she held against herself, imagining the gown it would make for the Christmas season. Anne saw and sent a page to bring her. The queen was so frail she could barely speak above a whisper. ‘Do you like that pretty satin, Cicely?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Your Grace, I do.’

  ‘Then it is yours.’

  Cicely’s eyes shone. ‘Thank you!’

  ‘No doubt you imagine yourself wearing a wondrous gown as you dance with your John?’

  ‘Yes, and I hope it will be every dance, for I do not want him to partner anyone else.’

  Anne smiled. ‘Oh, how well I understand. I felt the very same when I first fell in love with . . . Richard. If I could, I would still dance every dance with him. I will never dance again now, but must be present at Christmas.’

  Cicely could not help but notice that moment of hesitation before Anne said Richard’s name, nor could she help wondering if, after all, the name the queen wished to say was that of Edward of Lancaster, her first husband, the then Prince of Wales. It was a dismaying thought.

  ‘So, Cicely, which of these do you think will suit me best?’ Anne indicated two bales of brocade that had been placed before her. ‘Yes, I know they are both very alike, and that cherry is perhaps not my best colour, but I believe I will stand out. Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace, I do.’ Cicely looked at the cherry bales. The only real difference between them was that one was embroidered with gold, the other with silver. There was no doubt in her mind that the gold would better suit the queen. ‘This one, Your Grace,’ she said, running her fingertips over the rich surface.

  ‘Then it is settled.’ Anne nodded at some waiting pages, who took the unwanted bale back to the table with all the others. Then she smiled at the ladies, who had fallen silent expectantly. ‘You shall all have a gown for Christmas, ladies. Please make your choice.’

  With cries of delight they fell upon the cluttered table, but no one went near the cherry bale, for to choose that would be to draw a comparison with the queen, and there was not one among them who would wish to risk that. Anne began to cough a little, and Cicely brought her a draft of the herbal brew the physician had made for her. It was soothing, but made no difference to the advance of her illness.

  Just then the king was announced, and everyone curtseyed low as Richard entered. He wore a doublet the colour of walnuts, and wine-red hose, with a sleeveless dark-brown coat trimmed with black fur. The coat swung as he paused to look around. ‘Ladies, your cackle is audible throughout the castle,’ he said, inclining his head to include them all.

  Anne smiled. ‘You exaggerate, my lord,’ she said, trying to speak above a whisper but failing.

  He came to her. ‘How are you today?’ His eyes were warm with feeling.

  ‘See?’ Anne replied, taking the hand he held out to her. ‘We are all choosing our gowns for Christmas. I have this excellent brocade and Cicely has that blush satin.’

  ‘And very desirable you will both look.’ His glance moved to Bess’s solitary figure. ‘What of you, Bess? Do you not wish to choose a gown?’

  The question was so sudden and unexpected that many of ladies gasped. Bess started as well. ‘I—I was going to wait until everyone else had chosen, Uncle,’ she managed to say, but the look in her eyes almost stripped him naked.

  There was an immediate stir, and his gaze moved curiously around everyone, before returning to Anne’s suddenly set face. The queen was angry that Bess made so little effort to conceal such inappropriate desire, and today could not conceal her own resentment.

  Richard’s glance turned to Cicely, who avoided meeting it, a fact that to him spoke volumes. He knew something was wrong, and that it concerned Bess, but felt obliged to continue. ‘Come, Bess, choose now, before the gannets have taken everything.’ He went to the table and beckoned.

  Bess rose slowly, aware of the hostility in the room as she went towards him. The ladies drew back from the table as she passed.

  Richard was clearly bemused as he gestured at the bales. ‘Which do you like, Bess?’

  ‘I . . . do not know,’ she said haltingly.

  ‘What of this?’ Of all the bales, he indicated the cherry and silver brocade.

  Bess hesitated, but then nodded miserably. ‘Yes, Your Grace, I like it well enough.’

  ‘It is settled then.’ The continuing silence made him clear his throat. ‘Ladies, I know I have committed some crime, but for the very life of me I do not know what it is. I may be king, but I am not fey.’

  Anne could not leave him floundering. ‘Come, my dear lord, let us talk a while,’ she said in her pathetic whisper.

  He went to his wife with some relief, and Cicely felt so sorry for him. He had no idea that he had unwittingly chosen the very cloth that was bound to foment more whispers. Anne and Bess would be alike, but opposites as well, and it would be Bess who shone. Nor would Anne tell him, because Cicely heard him ask, and the queen replied that he had imagined it. As always, he did not press further.

  The other ladies began to talk together again, resuming their choosing of the cloths but a little more decorously this time. They turned their backs on Bess, who tried to gather her bale. She fumbled and it spilled, unrolling its way across the rush-matted floor. No one went to her aid, except Cicely. Whatever else lay between them, she and Bess were still sisters.

  Bess was grateful. ‘Why did he choose this cloth, Cissy?’ she whispered. ‘There were so many there, but he chose this one.’

  ‘And you should have had the wit to decide on something else.’

  ‘I know now, but did not think in that sudden moment.’

  Cicely paused, the collected brocade spilling over her arms. She kept her voice as soft as possible, so that no one could overhear. ‘Bess, you will have to be more alert to it all. You still persist in making plain your feelings for him, and the ladies will not forgive you. Nor will the queen. Perhaps especially the queen.’

  Bess stole a glance towards him as he leaned over Anne’s shoulder to whisper in her ear. ‘I am enchanted, Cissy, in his thrall so completely that I will never escape.’

  ‘Do you wish to?’

  ‘No, for to say that would be to deny what is in my heart. Even though his great love for Anne is s
o very obvious to all, and I am destroyed by this white-hot desire, I look at him, and my body exults. And when I lie in bed at night, he becomes mine.’

  Cicely gazed at her. ‘You have to control it. You almost raped him with your eyes.’ She handed the bale to the pages, and as they bore it away to the rooms she shared with Bess, she continued, ‘If Anne should complain to him, you will be removed from court and sent somewhere that not only keeps you from him, but places you beyond Henry Tudor’s reach as well. You do know that? It might be a doorless turret in the middle of an Irish lake, for all I know.’

  Bess smiled wanly. ‘If you ever wish to know what it is like to be cursed, just ask me, for I can describe every torment.’

  After a few minutes, Richard took his leave of his wife, acknowledging the ladies again, and when he had gone, Anne looked at them all. ‘The king fears that I am tired, and with the long journey to London tomorrow he insists that I rest. You may all leave now. I will send for you if I require anything. Cicely, I wish you to assist me to the bed.’

  Cicely curtseyed, and waited until she and the queen were alone. ‘Will you wish to disrobe, Your Grace?’

  ‘No, for I am determined to be with Richard when he dines, but I will be free of this unwieldy headdress.’

  Cicely hastened to remove it, slipping it from its pins and then easing it from Anne’s head. Then she brought a hairbrush and smoothed the lank rosy hair. Anne closed her eyes. ‘That is very soothing. Can you imagine that I was once as beautiful as your sister?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Your Grace, I know it well. I think perhaps you were much more beautiful than my sister. The king could not help but fall in love with you.’

  Anne looked away. ‘Those were different days, Cicely. I was married before him, did you know?’

  ‘I . . . I had heard, Your Grace.’

  ‘Richard and I were betrothed, but then the turn of political events saw me married to Henry VI’s son, Edward of Lancaster, Prince of Wales. We were husband and wife for six months, or thereabouts, before he died at the Battle of Tewkesbury.’

  ‘But now you have a much finer husband, Your Grace.’

  ‘Yes, the king.’

  ‘Not just the king. You have Richard Plantagenet, the man himself, and I know of no greater heart.’

  ‘Cicely. I . . . carry guilt.’

  Cicely gazed at her. ‘Please do not tell me more,’ she whispered. ‘Please, for I could not bear to know. The king means everything to me, and . . . you mean everything to him. I cannot learn something I know would pierce him. Please, Your Grace, do not hand me that burden.’

  Anne’s thin hand gripped hers. ‘Forgive me, Cicely, but I think I already have.’

  ‘Not in words I cannot pretend to have misunderstood.’

  Anne smiled. ‘I see well why you are so high in his regard. You are not afraid to speak your mind to a king or queen.’

  ‘Only this king and queen,’ Cicely answered

  ‘Richard always deserved better than me.’

  Cicely looked away in tacit agreement. She was distraught for him. The gossip was right: Anne had always loved her first husband more than her second.

  ‘I am sorry, Cicely, but I feel the burden too. I know I have failed him through our marriage. When we were first betrothed I thought I loved him so much, and I did. Truly. But then I was snatched away and given to Edward of Lancaster. I have tried to do right since Richard and I married, to love him as he should be loved, but we cannot always overcome our hearts. No woman can forget the first man she lay with, and that was Edward.’ Anne smiled regretfully. ‘And he was not worth it. Do you know that? He was not worth it, because he had no heart, but still I feel this way towards him. Still feel that if he had lived, I could have changed him. Is that not what all women think? We are all fools. I am perverse and selfish, for I have the love of a man who is all I know you believe him to be. This illness is my sentence. As was the loss of my son. I am a living wraith because I am a lie.’

  Cicely’s eyes filled with tears. Anne saw her child’s death as her punishment? It was Richard who paid the real price. He was a king without an heir, with a wife who could not give him another and who had always loved someone else.

  Anne watched her face. ‘You think less of me now, do you not?’

  ‘It would be naïve to say I do, because I have never been in such a position as you, and cannot begin to know how it feels. But I do not think love can be apportioned.’

  Anne smiled. ‘If it could, everything I am would be Richard’s. I do love him, you see, I just cannot leave the past where it belongs. Fate is not dealing him a kind hand, but soon I will be gone and he will be persuaded to take another wife. I pray she gives him more than I have ever done. Cicely, no matter what you now think of me, I seek your promise that you will always be there for Richard. Your youth is no barrier, for it is your heart, mind and strength that can sustain him. He is closer to you than anyone, I know that, and you have earned that honour. My guilty heart will be eased if I know you will be there to support him when he most needs it.’

  ‘I will always be there for him, Your Grace. Always.’

  ‘That is what I hoped you would say.’ Anne’s face became a little wry. ‘It is to be thanked that you do not feel as your sister does, for to be sure you could have had his heart and body long since.’

  Cicely’s cheeks flamed. ‘Please do not say that! He is my uncle.’

  ‘You and he have something, call it understanding, that is very out of the ordinary. Fate has made you his niece, but you would have been a far better wife for him than me. You would have warmed his bed. I was only ever warm with my first husband, and it has caused me pain ever since.’ Anne gazed at her. ‘But Richard is your uncle, and you only see him as such.’

  ‘Of course!’ Cicely was shocked.

  Anne smiled. ‘Of course,’ she murmured, but then changed the subject. ‘Please help me up for I must go to the bed.’

  Cicely struggled to take in all the queen had said, but managed to attend her with the care and consideration she had always shown. ‘Do . . . do you wish me to stay, Your Grace?’ she asked when Anne was lying on the huge bed.

  ‘No, you may go. But Cicely . . . ?’

  ‘Your Grace?’

  ‘Please try to understand me. I have never told anyone what I have told you today.’

  ‘Nothing of this will ever pass my lips, Your Grace, and I do not think any the worse of you. It is not my place to judge something of which I know nothing.’ But I now feel even more for Richard, if that be humanly possible.

  Bess was nowhere to be found. Cicely searched the castle without success, and eventually found her quite by accident, standing on a chair to look out of the narrow aperture window of a small room that overlooked the castle bailey. She turned, and stepped guiltily down from the chair. ‘You have found my secret place then? I come here often.’

  Cicely stood on the chair, and saw the view below, where Richard, John and some gentlemen were viewing a pair of new horses. One of them was her cousin Jack, who had arrived from the north that very day.

  Bess was defensive. ‘I do no harm by coming here, and offend no one. Surely you do not pick fault with this as well?’

  Cicely watched as Richard mounted one of the horses, a mettlesome chestnut that did not take kindly to its burden, monarch or not. Richard was not unseated, and seemed well able to control it. He gave no sign of his pain, and was as fit and accomplished a rider as any straight-backed man, probably fitter than most. Then she looked at John, and her eyes softened with love. My own John.

  ‘I cannot undo my love,’ Bess said quietly behind her. ‘Could you undo yours?’

  ‘John is free to be mine, Bess, but Richard belongs to Anne.’

  Bess was silent for a while, and then looked at her again. ‘Do you think you will marry John?’

  ‘I pray so, but it might be that now that the little prince has gone, the king has a grander match in mind for his only son.’

  ‘Yo
u are a grand match, Cissy. It would be a very popular marriage in the land.’

  Cicely smiled. ‘Shall I shock you, Bess? If I cannot marry John of Gloucester, I will lie with him anyway. I will be his lover, and will remain so for as long as he wants me.’

  Bess gave a sad smile. ‘What is so shocking about that? Cissy, I have been in that fleshly prison for what seems like an eternity.’

  Cicely looked down into the courtyard again, at her cousin Jack in particular. He was handsome and roguish, with wild dark curls to his shoulders, brown flashing eyes, and a seductive smile—and charm that gained him access to numerous ladies’ beds. Or so Cicely had been told. Looking at him, she could believe it.

  The party mounted and prepared to ride out from the castle, Jack on a splendid white horse, called Héraut, that was the envy of most. It was probably more suited to the king himself than the nephew expected to be his heir. As the little party of horsemen moved slowly towards the gateway, in the shadows of the old walls, Richard and John were indistinguishable one from the other.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was just before Christmas and Cicely stood in her room as close as possible to the fire. Biddy fussed around, arranging the folds of the gown that had been made up from the blush-rose satin, and which would be worn during the seasonal celebrations. At last the old nurse was satisfied and stood back to look at her charge. ‘Lady Cicely, I declare you look lovely. Your father would indeed have been proud. There will be few to rival you.’

  Eyes shining with anticipation, Cicely turned to look at her reflection and was well pleased with what she saw. The gown was all she could have wished, the soft cloth falling elegantly from a high waistline, the trimming of gold striking just the right note of contrast. Around her waist she wore a belt of mother-of-pearl from which hung a long golden chain, and at the end was an enamelled pendant of brilliant colours. Around her throat were twisted many strands of pearls, some hanging low past her waist and some tightly twisted against her skin. There too was John’s ring, although still tucked out of sight. Her dark hair was brushed until it shone and on her head nestled a small cap hung with drop pearls.