Son of York

by Amy Licence

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Warwick, ‘then he can grant York an audience once he has arrived. What is the man playing at?’

  ‘I am sure he comes for reconciliation,’ said Bourchier optimistically.

  ‘With a gesture such as a drawn sword?’

  ‘To protect himself? Until such time as he has heard in person that his attainder has been reversed.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Edward at once. ‘It must be. They are uncertain of their reception here.’

  ‘Not with your mother at his side,’ added Warwick quietly. ‘She will have told him how the land lies.’

  Salisbury shook his head. ‘I am at a loss.’

  The heralds had barely lifted their trumpets to their lips when the doors to the hall swung open. Sunlight streamed inside, making them blink. There was movement and figures outside, horses being led away. Then, in the doorway, the forms of three people; a man in a long cloak striding in confidently, with two others in his wake. There was no doubting his shape, from the cast of his limbs to the shape of his head. Even though he was bathed in the shadows, York’s movements proclaimed his arrival, the easy, long step by which he travelled and the sense of innate energy that seemed to ignite the hall.

  Warwick took the lead, bowing his head in greeting. The others followed suit but Edward could not take his eyes from his father. York was both the same and different after his year in Ireland. His head was held high, hair perhaps a little more grey, but jaw and temples bearing a noble air. His grey eyes swept the scene and his mouth was resolutely fixed. Edward could see at once that he had come with a purpose and he seemed to fill the entire hall to the rafters with his authority. To his left stood Cecily, her proud chin lifted, her fair hair piled up under a jewelled headdress, to his right, a composed youth in furs, with sandy hair brushed back from his pale brow and eyes that seemed to have darkened and grown wiser. There was something about the set of his lips that spoke of experience along with sensitivity. Edmund, Earl of Rutland, had grown as tall and broad as his brother.

  ‘Father!’

  York clasped his eldest son by the hand and looked searchingly into his eyes. ‘You have achieved wonderful things while I was away. You and Warwick together.’ He clapped the earl on the shoulder. ‘Your mother has told me all.’

  ‘Edward!’ It was Edmund, stepping forward, his eyes level.

  For a moment they could only laugh at one another, in remembrance of summers drawing their bows in the fields, of winters by the Ludlow hearth, of the curve of the land they both knew and the pull of rivers where they had swum side by side.

  ‘You are most welcome back.’

  ‘It is good to be here.’

  ‘Ireland agreed with you?’

  ‘More than agreed. And Calais?’

  ‘Not so much as here.’

  Edward clasped his brother about the shoulders. ‘I am glad to see you safe and well. And mother too.’

  Cecily stepped forward to allow him to press his lips to her cheek, then to her hand. ‘Welcome back, mother. The young ones are well. We are all together again.’

  ‘And so soon,’ added Warwick. ‘We scarce had warning of your arrival.’

  ‘You shall hear more at present,’ said York, lifting his head, ‘but for now I must enter the council chamber.’

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘At once. They are in session?’

  ‘Indeed they are.’

  ‘Is Henry Plantagenet in the chamber?’

  Warwick and Edward exchanged glances.

  ‘Not at this moment.’

  ‘Then follow me. I am resolute. This day will be the change I have long awaited. A great victory will come out of the work of my son. Edward, walk with me.’

  His mind full of questions, Edward could only obey, falling into line shoulder to shoulder beside Edmund.

  The heralds threw open the doors ahead of them. Inside, the council chamber was packed with lords and bishops, ranged around the table according to their affinities. Empty chairs stood on either side, which Warwick and Salisbury had left vacant moments before, and the rolls of office lay on the table, beneath the scribe’s quill, to record the day’s business. York had his audience. Edward hesitated, unsure of what his father was about to say, but one glance showed him that Edmund had complete confidence in what was about to happen.

  But York did not speak. Instead, he strode past them all with his long, confident step, past the long table and the rows of men, right up to the distant dais and the carved chair reserved for the king. Turning to face them, with all eyes fixed upon him, and perfect stillness in the room, he paused. Then, with one clean movement, he drew his sword from its sheath and held it aloft. With slow deliberation, he placed his other hand firmly upon the back of the throne in a gesture of possession.

  A gasp of surprise ran through the room. Edward looked to Warwick who stood agog, then to Edmund whose face was set in pride.

  It was Salisbury who recovered first. ‘What means this my Lord?’

  York looked at them all with a level gaze. ‘I assert my right to the throne of England, France and Ireland through my descent from Edward III, through the inheritance of the Mortimers whom King Richard II named to be his heirs before the line of Lancaster usurped his position.’

  Warwick was blushing furiously. ‘Do you wish for an audience with the king, my Lord? I can conduct you to him, providing he is disposed to…’

  ‘No, I am not here to seek an audience with Henry Plantagenet’ York thundered. ‘I know of no one in the realm who would not more fitly come to me than I to him.’

  A gasp ran through the room.

  Edward took Edmund by the elbow. ‘What madness is this?’

  ‘No madness,’ said Edmund coolly, ‘just father asserting his inherited right.’

  ‘But what would he do? Depose the king?’

  ‘He is king by rights.’

  ‘You should have warned us. This is grossly misjudged, look about you.’

  Some of the lords were trying to creep away unnoticed. York simply stood proudly, in anticipation, waiting to be acclaimed by his subjects. It created a pang of agony in Edward to watch him.

  ‘Come down, father,’ he offered, approaching the dais. ‘This is too much of a shock, too unexpected. Give the council time to deliberate.’

  ‘What is there to deliberate over? I am the rightful king, the only man who can run this country. I am declaring myself king by rights and my coronation will take place in three days.’

  Edward stepped up and took York by the arm. ‘Come down, father. Let us go and talk through the details, there is much to arrange.’

  ‘Yes in truth, there is much to arrange. I will occupy the queen’s chambers.’ His hand fell from the chair.

  Edward shot a look at his mother as he led York from the room. Cecily’s face was blanched white, her eyes dark and huge in surprise. Warwick was behind them at once, dragging Edmund along.

  ‘Has he lost his mind?’ barked the earl.

  Edmund shrugged. ‘Lost his mind? How?’

  ‘You saw the reaction? What was he thinking?’ They stared after York’s disappearing back.

  Edward rounded on his brother. ‘Does this seem right to you? We have done everything in the king’s name, proclaimed our loyalty, fought for his freedom. It has been our badge of honour, our motivation and our salvation. This act makes it all seem like nothing but gross ambition.’

  ‘But father is king by rights. You know it. The line was usurped.’

  ‘Perhaps. But we have an anointed king already, whom we have sworn to protect. What would you have us do? Put him aside? Send him to France, or north to his wife?’

  ‘It is father’s right. And ours.’

  Warwick rounded on Edmund in a rage. ‘You have lost your minds. This makes it all count for nothing.’

  ‘Hold back,’ Edward urged the earl, sharing his frustration but seeking to curb it, turning to his brother. ‘How long has he been planning this?’

  ‘I don’
t know,’ said Edmund. ‘He started to speak of it first about a month before our return.’

  ‘Was he ill in Ireland? Did he have a fever?’

  Edmund’s brows knit. ‘Not at all. It was the decision of a sane man. Think about it. Things could not go on forever with us bowing and scraping before an idiot while his wife planned our deaths. The only way to end it was to strike first and take what is owed to us.’

  His words stunned them into silence.

  ‘Come on,’ said Edmund, pushing between them. ‘Father is waiting.’

  TWENTY-ONE: Brothers Again

  York stood in the alcove, framed by the leaded windows on each side. Behind him lay the spread of sky, sea and river, framed by the drape of heavy velvet curtains, something like a man playing the part of king in a pageant. Edward closed the door.

  Warwick could barely hold back, striding across the room past the tapestries and bed with its gold silk tester and cushions. ‘What is this? You are to be king now? Is that it? You go to Ireland for a year and come back as king? What are you thinking?’

  York looked at him levelly, at them all as they stood awkwardly in the queen’s lodgings. There was a smell of damp in the air, and the acrid tang of a grate that still recalled its last fire. His eyes were steely grey. ‘I don’t see I had a choice. It was come back as king or don’t come back at all.’

  ‘How?’ exploded Warwick. ‘How so?’

  Edward laid a hand on the earl’s arm. ‘Let father explain.’

  York nodded. ‘Thank you. We parted at Ludlow as traitors to the throne, stripped of our titles and lands, our children denied their inheritances. We were forced to flee from our homes under pain of death, away from our families. Our lands had been given away, our tenants abandoned after years of service. The victory you won at Northampton, yes, your mother told me of it, that victory, and the support you have won, and taking London, and being here now, all of us, at Westminster, it is not real. It is not permanent. It is only a temporary thing. It is not the answer, not the end.’

  Warwick looked first to Edward and then Salisbury. ‘It feels real enough to me. It was real enough for the Lancastrians we left slain in the field.’

  ‘But don’t you see? We have been here before.’ York ran his hand through his hair. ‘We are no further advanced than we were after St Albans. Six years later and we are again holding Henry prisoner with the queen planning ways to destroy us. Do you think this situation will last? For how long? Henry will find new advisors, and we will meet Beaufort’s men in every dark city alley. We will go round and round this wheel until we do something decisive, something different. We have to break out of this or else we are dead men.’

  There was a pause in the room as this sank in.

  ‘Yes, that was a performance, a piece of drama. I meant to make an impression.’

  ‘Well, you did that,’ Warwick admitted.

  ‘But listen. Things were different in Ireland. The people wanted me to rule them, they rejected English dominance and King Henry, and treated me as their sovereign lord. I had my own Great Seal, new minted coins, my enemies were condemned as traitors and every householder was ready to defend me. They only stopped short of placing a crown on my head. Edmund was my chancellor. I was minded to send for my family and never return.’

  Warwick was shaking his head. ‘So you have had a taste of kingship and do not want to give it up?’

  ‘I did give it up, I left Ireland.’

  ‘Thinking you could walk into the same role here?’

  ‘Thinking I should, yes. The Mortimer line is the legitimate line. I had to come back as king or else never come back at all.’

  ‘Father is right,’ said Edmund. ‘This present situation will not last, not while Henry is king.’

  ‘And how,’ said Warwick, turning to Edmund slowly, ‘how exactly are we to end Henry’s rule? Have you thought about that?’

  ‘Kings have been deposed before,’ the boy answered.

  ‘And the queen? You think she will simply accept this?’

  York squared his shoulders. ‘The council know that I have been a better ruler as Protector than Henry ever was as king. They will agree to sign a petition deposing him in favour of me, in the interests of the kingdom. After all, they set the precedent when Henry Bolingbroke returned from exile and claimed the throne. I am now taking it back.’

  The listening earls appeared baffled. Warwick turned to his father. ‘How does this sit with you?’

  Salisbury sighed. ‘They will not agree to it.’

  ‘But they must,’ York retorted. ‘It is the best solution for the country.’

  ‘But not for them,’ the old man continued. ‘They will see it as an act of ambition and flock to support the queen. We will have full-scale civil war.’

  ‘We already have it!’

  At last Edward spoke up. ‘Father, you have returned to a peaceful realm. The capital and the countryside are quiet. Henry is the nominal king but in reality he exercises little power; the queen is defeated, her followers killed. This is the best position we have held for a long time. Why seek change?’

  ‘Let me speak with the council, I will convince them.’

  ‘But father, if you cannot convince us…’

  York drew back his shoulders, standing at his full height. ‘I have had a long journey. I will retire for the present. If you will all be so good as to leave me, that I might take some rest.’

  Gradually they began to melt away. Edward was one of the last, waiting so that he might shake his father by the hand.

  ‘It is good to have you back, my Lord. You have been much missed.’

  York clapped his eldest boy on the shoulder. ‘Later you must tell me everything that has happened since our parting. Until then…’

  *

  Cecily lingered after their sons had left, until the door was firmly shut behind them. As she crossed the room, York could see the concern in her eyes.

  ‘And you, my love? Do you also believe this is an act of ambition?’

  She ran her hands over his shoulders. ‘I know you better than that.’

  ‘I don’t understand!’ York sank into a chair. ‘I thought they would welcome me, acclaim me as king, once I was bold enough to rise to the challenge.’

  ‘They are afraid; they will see the error of their ways.’

  ‘No, I am not sure. The mood here is not as I anticipated it.’

  Cecily winced. ‘When I left London to meet you, it was different. There was a sense of elation in the air, of our victory. It seemed like anything was possible then.’

  York sighed. ‘Seasons change. But I will convince them in the council. They must listen to reason.’

  ‘Shall I call for some refreshment?’

  York took both her hands in his. ‘I have missed you. I see you still wear the ruby ring.’

  ‘Of course.’ She lifted her hand, bearing his parting gift. ‘I have never taken it off. Would you like it back now?’

  ‘No, keep wearing it for my sake.’

  She knew him too well. ‘You’re not staying in London?’

  ‘Warwick is right. Before I can become king, we must defeat the queen.’

  *

  Edward caught up with his brother as he was crossing the courtyard. Edmund’s face was stern, his lips set in a grim line: the old softness and sensitivity of his youth was still there except it had been tempered by something harsh. The boy had been left behind in Ireland; a man now stood in his place.

  ‘Edmund! Will you not wait? Come, we have been apart so long?’

  His brother submitted stiffly to his embrace. Edward could feel the growth in his limbs. He scrutinised the hazel eyes, looking for some trace of emotion.

  ‘What is this? I hardly know you.’

  ‘And you, the great military leader?’ Edmund had never used such a tone to him before.

  ‘Hardly! Warwick and Salisbury were at my side.’

  ‘Oh, I have heard the stories; your speech to the men, your intuit
ion with Lord Grey. One of the swiftest victories ever, perhaps? You have made your mark.’

  Edward put up a hand to stop him. ‘I was terrified. You will be the same in your first battle. But you are so changed. Tell me what happened in Ireland.’

  Edmund sighed and looked round to the double gates. The entrance to the palace was guarded by men in royal livery who were halting all comers to ask their business. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he watched as they stood aside to let a cart trundle past, laden with delicacies intended for the king’s dinner table.

  ‘You remember when we arrived here, five years ago? Father was asked back as Protector. I was so scared riding through the streets back then, seeing danger everywhere.’

  ‘I remember, but I didn’t know you were so afraid.’

  ‘I hid it, of course. All part of being a son of York. But I was excited too. The city seemed so vast.’

  Edward smiled. ‘And now?’

  ‘Now it seems, I don’t know, I am tired of the danger, of the fear of what might be waiting for us. I want to leave all that behind.’

  ‘And father’s plan?’

  ‘I tried to talk him out of it at first. But I can’t see any other way. He was in a bad way when we left Ludlow. It was all I could do to get him to the coast and onto a boat.’

  ‘How do you mean, a bad way?’

  ‘He almost abandoned hope. He swore a great many oaths, saying he had failed, that it was better that the ship sank with him in it. You must not repeat any of this.’

  ‘No.’ Edward was stunned. ‘I have never seen father like that, I can’t imagine that.’

  ‘Nor had I. I had to grow up very quickly.’

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.’

  ‘No, you made the choice to go to Calais, with Warwick.’ Edmund’s eyes were hard.

  ‘But I explained why. I didn’t desert you. What if we had all been on one ship that went down?’

  ‘I know, so you said.’

  Edward sensed the hostility behind his words. ‘You resent my choice?’