Daughter of York (4 page)

Then she had played her lute until her fingertips were sore and practiced French with old Anne, the Norman nursemaid who had begun service with the York family at Edward’s birth. Even her beloved books could not keep her mind occupied today. She longed to escape the confinement of her chamber and the castle walls. Cecily had even forbidden the daily outing along the river in the ducal barge—too dangerous in these times of uncertainty, she told the children. We cannot afford to lose any more York family members, she said. Not while your brother is staking his claim to the throne. Margaret’s attendants Ann and Jane had tried to persuade her to play a game of hide and go seek that would include several of the pimply pages they flirted with incessantly, but Margaret found those two girls’ company less than stimulating. They had been assigned to her by Cecily, who recognized her daughter needed companionship of her own age, but their simpering and obsession with clothes and jewels bored her.

And so that afternoon she escaped her own chambers and wandered through the maze of rooms in the vast castle, avoiding her mother’s apartment, where she knew she would be immediately put to work on an embroidery Cecily had designed to honor Edward’s victory at Mortimer’s Cross. She found her way to the bridge room, a tiny space directly over the castle gate that had a window onto the world outside the castle. She had come here to cry those first few days after the news of Wakefield reached Baynard’s. Although she still found herself close to tears many times a day, she was learning to hide them—like her mother. Cecily did not tolerate displays of emotion in public. “Those of our station must always be in control of our feelings, do you understand, Margaret? ’Tis a sign of weakness to be seen crying,” she had told Margaret after another of Margaret’s nightmares. “How will we deserve loyalty from our servants if we appear weak?”

Today, her visit to the bridge room was more to alleviate her boredom than to grieve. Perhaps she could watch ordinary townsfolk in their ordinary lives, something that intrigued the privileged young woman. The door was unlatched, so she pushed it open. Unaware of her presence, a
young squire and a servant maid were enjoying a passionate embrace. Margaret stared fascinated at the sight. The young man’s bare buttocks were thrusting back and forth at the young woman, who was standing spreadeagled against the wall, her skirt and shift lifted to her neck. “Harder, harder,” moaned the girl, writhing in what seemed to Margaret to be pain. The squire obliged, and in a very few seconds, both lovers climaxed with a cry. As quietly as she had entered, Margaret left the room, her mind in a whirl.

At the onset of her courses not a year ago, Cecily had given Margaret a perfunctory explanation of the begetting of children, which had terrified her. But this scene did not seem so terrifying; in fact, it had made her pulse race, and she had experienced a strange physical yearning. She touched her breast and was surprised at the warm sensation she felt all the way to her thighs. At once she was ashamed and mumbled an Ave, feeling for the rosary she kept at her waist. Certes, I shall have to confess this when the priest hears me tomorrow, she thought, for if this feels so pleasurable, it cannot be good for the soul. Cecily’s training had been well digested. She wished she had someone to talk to about the experience other than immature Ann and Jane, and she was sure old Anne would not ever have felt as she was now. Not for the first time, Margaret wished she had been born a boy. They have all the fun, she lamented.

The rattling noise of the portcullis being raised and the shouts of men interrupted her thoughts. She ran down the stairs, taking the narrow steps two at a time and stopping at the open balcony at the foot. Others were beginning to appear at windows and balconies all over the castle, watching as more and more bloodied men limped, hobbled or were borne by others into the courtyard. Cecily’s steward, an imperious man with white hair and bright blue eyes, stood on the top step leading into the great hall, waiting for the herald to extricate himself from the melee and climb the steps. Margaret recognized the smiling man who had brought them news of Mortimer’s Cross. He was not smiling now.

“I bring bad news to her grace, the duchess, sir,” he addressed Sir Henry Heydon, the steward, loudly enough for all to hear. “My lord of Warwick has suffered a bitter defeat this day at the hands of the queen at St. Albans field. These few of us escaped to bring the news to London, so you can prepare for the advancing army.”

Cecily appeared from the hall, and the messenger went down on one knee and doffed his bonnet.

“God keep you, sir herald. At St. Albans you say?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. “And what of my cousin of Warwick? God forbid he is not slain.”

“Nay, your grace. The earl and the rest of our force who escaped the slaughter have fled west to find your son, Lord Edward.”

“Praise be to the Virgin for that!” Cecily exclaimed.

“My lord of Warwick had taken the king with him to the battlefield, I know not why,” the herald continued. “He is back with his queen now, as mad as ever. Some said they saw him at the edge of the battlefield sitting under a tree, laughing at his enemies.”

“Sweet Jesu, he is indeed mad,” whispered Cecily, crossing herself. Aloud to the company she cried, “Hear this, loyal friends of York. We are in danger here, and I would command all those who can walk and fight to join this herald and leave London as soon as they have had nourishment. Follow Warwick’s trail and join with my son. Those too wounded to be moved will be looked after here. I do not believe the queen will harm me or those who cannot fight, so we must remain to defend Baynard’s from her looting army. God help us! And may God bless the lord Edward!”

“God bless Lord Edward!” Margaret cheered along with the rest, and a thrill of pride went through her at the deafening sound of loyal voices echoing Cecily’s prayer.

A few minutes later, Margaret joined her mother in the great hall. The duchess was in full command of the servants, who gathered around her, receiving orders. The deference they gave the proud, beautiful woman was not lost on Margaret. She longed to emulate her dignified mother—but not until I am much older, she thought timidly.

“Ah, Margaret, my dear, come here and help me. I want you to go up to your apartments and tell Nurse Anne to ready George and Richard for a journey. Tell her to pack their warmest clothes and one good doublet and bonnet each. I will be there anon.”

“Where will they go, Mother?” Margaret asked, unfortunately.

“’Tis not your place to question me, Margaret,” Cecily retorted. “Pray do as I tell you at once!” A few sympathetic eyes turned to Margaret upon hearing Cecily’s sharp chiding.

Margaret blushed, ashamed that she had been reprimanded in front of so many people. Cecily relented and said less severely, “You will know in a little while. I simply do not have time to explain now.”

Margaret, still smarting, curtseyed and hurried upstairs to the boys’ chambers. Her brothers were appalled that they were to leave for parts unknown without her, for her mother had not told Margaret to prepare herself for a journey with them. It would be one of the rare times in their young lives that the siblings would be parted. Margaret gave the boys the news, and Anne began packing.

Richard was still crying when Cecily joined them half an hour later.

“Where is your York backbone, Richard?” she admonished him. “You are near ten years old and here you are crying like a baby. ’Tis not the first time you have been without me.”

“But … but … Meg has always been with us. Why can’t she come, too?” Richard tried to stop his lip quivering and tears from flowing, but he did not succeed.

It was Margaret who gathered him into her arms and cajoled him out of his fear. “’Twill be an adventure, Dickon! George will be with you, and Nurse Anne, I expect.”

“Aye, Anne will go with you. Although I expect George will not care for that! And your favorite squire, John Skelton, will also keep you company.” Cecily knelt in front of her youngest and took him from Margaret, holding him close. “Hush, child. It will not be for long, I promise, for Edward will come and take London and all will be well.”

At Edward’s name, Richard brightened. “You think he will really come, Mother. I would dearly love to see Ned again!” He blinked back his tears and attempted a smile.

“That’s better, child.” Cecily stood up and drew George to her as well. “Now, would you like to know where you are going?”

“Aye, Mother,” chorused the boys. “And why,” added George.

“’Tis for your own safety, George. If something should happen to Edward—pray God it does not”—they all crossed themselves—“then you and Richard are York’s heirs. And therefore heirs to the crown.”

Both boys looked nonplussed, and Cecily decided not to explain but fussed with the clothes Anne had laid on the bed. “I am sending you to our friend the duke of Burgundy, so you must remember your manners.
Aye,” she said, nodding, as the boys’ eyes widened, “you will have your first voyage on a ship!”

“A ship, Georgie!” Richard cried ecstatically, his tears forgotten. “We are going to sea, like the game we played yesterday!”

George was less enthusiastic, old enough to understand that he was to miss events at home that might carve out his future. But he put his arm about Richard’s shoulders protectively, giving his mother’s back a resentful stare. “Aye, Dickon. And I will protect you, never fear.”

“I am not afraid, George!” Richard exclaimed. “I am a York. And us Yorks are never afraid!”

“There’s a brave boy, Richard.” Cecily turned, beaming. “Only it should be we Yorks, but no mind. Now, both of you say good-bye to Margaret and come with me.”

Margaret watched, stunned, as the trio left the room, followed by Anne and a servant carrying the clothes chest. How could her life change so quickly? Only a few weeks ago, she had a father and another brother. Now they were gone. Then Edward had triumphed at Mortimer’s Cross, giving Yorkists hope of winning the crown of England, and now the disastrous news of St. Albans had turned their world upside down again. She shook her head in disbelief. A mere hour ago, she had been relatively carefree and experiencing her first sensual thrill of womanhood. Now her world was falling apart, and as if the news weren’t bad enough, her brothers were to be taken from her.

“George! Dickon!” she cried, “Wait for me!”

She picked up her skirts and ran down to the castle quay, where she was just in time to give both boys a last kiss. The boatmen dipped their heavy oars into the water and pulled away from the pier towards the scores of ships moored in the Pool on the other side of London Bridge. Cecily sat with her black fur-trimmed cloak wrapped around her frightened children as they huddled together for warmth against the damp February evening.

“I will be back with the tide, Margaret,” Cecily called. “You must take care of everything until I return. You know what to do. You have learned well!”

Margaret nodded and waved, her eyes brimming with tears, as she watched the boat and the small figures of her brothers recede into the
diminishing light. “God go with you, boys. Until we meet again!” she cried. Then she turned, held her head high and walked sedately up the stone steps and back into the castle. For the next few hours, she was in charge of the York household, giving orders—a little timorously, but still with enough authority—and presiding over the evening prayers. She prayed to St. Margaret to help her during Cecily’s absence. She looked around at the expectant faces all waiting for her to dismiss them after the chaplain had intoned the blessing, and she realized in that moment that her childhood was over.

2

1461

Queen Margaret had missed her chance again. Instead of marching her victorious army the twenty miles into London immediately following the battle at St. Albans, she hesitated. For the next ten days she parlayed with the mayor and aldermen, attempting to negotiate an entry. The city elders were loath to resist the queen—fearing reprisals for having lent the preferred Yorkists vast sums to equip their army—and agreed to meet her to suggest that four of her deputies negotiate with the London magistrates, acting on behalf of its citizens, to allow only the royalist leaders into the city. The London elders, however, had reckoned without their fellow citizens. Londoners shut up their shops, hid their jewels and money and turned on the mayor, taking the keys of the city gates for themselves and refusing to let anyone in or out.

At Baynard’s Castle, the York household held its breath and waited. Surely the lord Edward could not be far now. Cecily attempted to continue the daily routine of the castle, and she and Margaret spent time plying their needles, walking about the orchard and terraces, visiting the wounded and attending Mass. Margaret was relieved to know George
and Richard had been taken on board a vessel bound for Burgundy, and Cecily assured her that Duke Philip would treat them kindly. Cecily had had to negotiate personally with the captains of two or three ships lying in the harbor before one going to the Low Countries agreed to her price. Her mother’s bravery and resolve to protect her family even in the face of danger left an indelible mark on Margaret, and she hoped that when her turn came, she too would be as fearless.