Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (7 page)

“No, sire, I do not. I just wished to know why they had to go. You have answered my question. I am grateful for that.”

Ludlow had been an adventure, a summer of arms practice, of family meals, of time spent with brothers they did not know but had come to respect and grow fond of. It had all changed, in what seemed like the blink of a tired eye, but George knew of the hasty meetings, the many men coming and going, the air of menace hanging over everything like an autumn mist without being as thick as an autumn mist.

“What happens to us, sire?”

The question was as inevitable as the next breath the man took but somehow he seemed to want to avoid answering it. He looked everywhere but at the boys, found great interest in the rich arras behind them, the pattern in the Welsh granite flagstones, the disarray of the rushes kicked out of the way by anxious feet. A sense of movement, of haste, of something bordering on panic was filling the castle. George sensed it, drew it into himself unwillingly, knowing he had to accept it. The man’s delay in responding said ‘this is not good and I do not wish to impart it.’

“Sire,” he prompted, whilst Richard began to look even more apprehensive as they waited.

“Your lady mother is to surrender herself to the king’s army, taking both of you with her.”

It was like a dive into an ice-cold pond and yet George had known something like this would happen. He had been woken in the night by the sound of horses, of muttered curses and hasty farewells whispered into the darkness, words caught by the stone walls and hurled back into his ears as clearly as if spoken to him directly. He knew his father had gone; knew his golden brothers had gone with him but had not known why. The talk around the castle in the preceding days had been confused, contradictory, boldly optimistic when people realised his ears were straining for every word.

“The king will be merciful to a lady.” The words were said with a sigh. Was his life then under threat? Would the soldiers kill such an old man, one whose only use was as a scribe? But then again, he would know much, being the secretary. Were there papers which should be destroyed … George caught his thoughts before they went too wildly off the target. If this man was any kind of loyal servant to his lord father, the papers were long turned into black ash and lost in the flames of the great fireplace in the hall.

“May I suggest you change into your travel clothes and take just that which is most important to you, then wait for your lady mother in the hall. She will direct you from then on. I have much to do. Forgive me.”

The man hustled away, clearly glad to be done with his unpleasant duty, heaving the two boys standing in the room, uncertain, afraid and yet not wanting to admit that fear to each other.

“Has our lord father run away?” Richard asked in the tiniest of voices, which George only just managed to hear.

“No. You heard what he said, he’s gone to raise a bigger army so he can fight back.”

“And left us here.”

“Not only us, Mother is here.”

“We’re too small to go and fight, I suppose.”

“Much too small. There’s nothing we could do in a battle but get in the way of those fighting. Imagine Ned being distracted trying to defend us, instead of killing our father’s enemies!”

“I know it but I don’t like it!” Proudly Richard stood as tall as he could, as if taking on the mantle of a soldier.

“Come, we have our orders: change and find that we wish to take with us. Come on, Dickon, we have to do as we’re told, we don’t know when the army will arrive!”

The precisely spoken statement was like a command. Richard reacted by standing even straighter, then turning and hurrying out of the room. George raced after him and together the two boys climbed the stone stairs to their chambers.

George swiftly changed into a coarser tunic and exchanged his fine leather boots for stronger ones. Then it was a question of what to take, if anything. He had to hope there would be someone to pack his clothes for him, he had no idea how to start doing that. He grabbed his rosary, his prayer book and some of his favourite jewels, tucking everything inside his tunic for safe keeping. With one last look at the place he had come to like so much, he went into Richard’s room to find out how he was faring.

Richard had changed but was hesitating over his possessions, picking up a chain, putting it down again and picking up a ring instead.

“Hurry!” George urged him. “Take what you most favour and let us be downstairs when our lady mother needs us. This is not the time to incur her wrath!”

Richard nodded, still hesitating. Finally he made up his mind, taking a rich amber rosary, a heavy amber jewel and a ruby ring before hurrying out of his room without a backward glance.

The hall was silent. The fire had been allowed to die down, it was nothing more than a sullen glow of dull red covered in fine ash. The dogs had vanished and, by chance, not a single servant was left in the place to attend to them. They stood, unsure, unhappy, in front of the dying fire, a metaphor for their glorious summer of happiness. They did not speak for to break the silence might mean breaking down the barrier of adultness they were trying to assume.

After what seemed an age the duchess hurried into the hall, carrying a small bag. Several of her ladies came too, brightly coloured birds following their leader.

“We must be ready.” The duchess fretted, touching their shoulders, tugging at their tunics, fussing with their hair. “Oh, why did this have to happen?”

“My lady!” One of her ladies distracted her attention for a moment. “The soldiers are here.”

The words were unnecessary. Boots resounded on the stone floor, spurs jangled, swords swung from belts. The soldiers, led by their captain, stormed into the hall, viewing the tapestries and rich furniture with undisguised glee.

“Your Grace.” The unkempt, bearded dirty captain bowed to the duchess but it was a gesture tinged with contempt. The rank smell of cheap wine, body odour and horses reached their nostrils. George was aware of rising anger that such an uncouth person should address his lady mother in such an arrogant offhand way but also knew there was nothing he could do about it. Not then, not there, but in the future - he promised himself – in the future no man will speak to any woman of my family in such a way and keep his tongue in his head. In that moment he felt much older than his ten years. The captain continued: “Are there no men here?”

“There are no men here. Only myself and my small sons, together with my ladies who have stayed to comfort me in my time of tribulation.”

“I am bidden to place any who are in this castle under arrest as traitors to our King and country.”

“I throw myself upon the King’s mercy and beg him to take pity on a poor woman and her two small children.”

“York brats!” someone snarled from the mob surveying the hall. “They should be put to the sword, not allowed to live!”

“Silence!” the captain roared, startling George so much that he stepped back. His mother pulled him forward again to stand beside her. “Speak not of royal princes in that way, or I will deprive you of your ears, dog!” He turned back to the duchess. “Of a surety, madam, you give me many problems. I did not expect to find you here. I shall be forced to send a messenger to His Grace and find out if mercy can be extended to Your Grace and Your Grace’s sons. Until then, you are under arrest as wife to a traitor. I must ask that you return to your room and stay there until the answer is brought to us.”

“Come.” The duchess swung round on her elegant heels and ushered her sons before her toward the stairs. “Come!” She indicated two of her ladies who hurried after them. George shuddered as he saw the soldiers grab some of the others and drag them into nearby rooms, hearing their pitiful screams for mercy, knowing there was nothing he could do or say to prevent them being hurt.

“I shall not forgive easily and I will not forgive this!” The duchess waved an imperious hand at the men already stripping the walls and removing the fine furniture even as she walked away. They ignored her, taking her words as empty threats.

Once in the sanctuary of her room, however, Lady Cecily gave way to her emotions, holding her head in her hands and weeping softly, almost silently. Richard clung to her arm, as if pleading with her to stop her tears. George hung back, almost embarrassed to see his proud mother in such distress. One of the ladies tried to console her.

“My lady, the King will grant the pardon, we will all be safe.”

“I know that, Helena, but oh the women here, the men who are dying, the thefts, the-” The tears began to flow again freely and Lady Cecily rocked back and forth in her chair, making a high pitched keening cry. George’s emotions snapped and he suddenly threw himself at her, pounding her with his clenched fists.

“Mother, Mother, stop it!”

She opened her eyes and looked at her son in complete astonishment. The tears stopped and she managed a shaky smile.

“Forgive me, my sons, I am sorry. For a moment I managed to forget who I was.” She fumbled for a handkerchief and dried her face. The regal demeanour was back. “On this occasion I forgive you for your assault, George!”

He stood back, scared, ashamed, scuffing his boots on the floor. “My apologies, Mother.”

She reached for him, held him close to her bosom, cradling his head, something she had never done in all his ten years of life.

“My dear son, you brought me back from a moment of sheer madness. There is nothing to forgive.” She let him go and held Richard instead. His lips trembled as if he was on the verge of tears. “Helena, if you can, arrange for some coverlets, furs, anything, to be brought to us. If we are to stay here until the king’s pardon arrives, we at least need some degree of comfort. And arrange for us to have some food and ale or wine. Olivia,” she gestured to her other lady, “I would have warm water with which to wash my face and hands. See if it can be arranged, I beg you.”

Then she fell silent and for the first time the clamour of the looting soldiers could be heard clearly throughout the castle, coupled with the screams of women and the groans of men, wounded, dying under the swords and daggers of the king’s army.

“Proud they were,” the duchess said quietly to her frightened sons. “Proud men, signing up to fight for the king. Listen to them now. Long may they rot in Hell and the traitor Trollope along with them!”

George caught his breath. Trollope, a traitor! Someone who had wined and dined at the castle, been his lord father’s confidant, knew all the plans of the Yorks – what had he been paid to turn traitor on the Yorks? More than that, how could he?

“Mother, what will happen to us?” Richard asked at last in a tiny voice croaky with fear.

“Us? Nothing, Richard, nothing at all. The king is a just man and will grant pardon and safe passage to a woman and her sons. We have to wait for the pardon and safe passage. But we are trapped here until it arrives, I am sorry to say. Now, did you both secure your possessions as I requested?”

They both nodded and George realised the wisdom of his mother’s command. Anything of value would be taken by the soldiers and everything else probably destroyed even as they seemed intent on destroying the very castle in which they were sitting at that time, judging by the horrendous noises which reached them; the sounds of things being broken, of rage and anger, of pain and sheer unmitigated terror.

The duchess settled herself in her chair, holding George in the curve of one arm and cradling Richard on her lap with the other. For a single fleeting moment, George wondered if the whole dreadful experience was worth it to have this moment of closeness, something he had never experienced before. He wondered if he ever would again.

Chapter 8

We were in the room for two days. We slept on the floor with such coverings as we could persuade the men let us have, while outside the screaming, looting and the groans of the dying went on. We ate whatever our mother’s lady could scavenge for us and we drank weak watered wine. We were cold, the Autumn air was chill and there was frost in the morning. We used the covers we slept on to wrap around ourselves in an effort to keep warm. We hardly spoke, for there was little to say. My lady mother prayed endlessly for the safety of our lord father and our brothers and for safe passage for us away from what had turned out to be a living nightmare, not the safe haven our lord father had in mind.

After two endless days of utter boredom combined with paralysing terror, the captain returned to say pardon had been granted, we were to go to Coventry to my aunt’s home and we were to leave immediately. We gathered up the coverings, in case we needed them, made sure we had our few meagre possessions safe and walked down the stairs into what seemed like a scene from Hell.

The castle was a wreck. Dead bodies, badly wounded men roughly bandaged, discarded food, empty wine casks, battered broken weapons, drunken men, all jumbled together in a way that tormented and destroyed my dreams and waking thoughts for days.

The captain’s men escorted us out past the bodies, past the wounded, past the blank bare walls, past the rooms empty of furniture, all gone. Everything I had admired, everything I had cherished about Ludlow, gone. At that moment I really believed my lord father had abandoned us and we would forever be alone. I recall a great sense of desolation falling over me like fine rain, soaking into my clothes, my heart and my mind.