Queen by Right (49 page)

“Then they are all whey-faced idiots,” Cecily had remarked as she removed an errant hair from the ermine-trimmed neck of his gown, straightened his heavy jeweled collar, and pecked him on the cheek. “But do not dwell on them today.” She fingered the gold ducal coronet that encircled his dark head. “Remember, here you are king.” Turning him toward the door, she gave him a little push. “I shall have my spies watching you all and reporting back to me. How I wish I could be down there with you.”

“Aye, so do I, my . . . my queen,” Richard murmured, his eyes twinkling.

Later Constance and Gresilde Boyvile took turns to describe the scene in the banquet hall from their vantage point near the musicians’ gallery.

“’Tis hard to know who are the most colorful—the Irishmen in their plaid wool mantles or the ladies,” Gresilde said, one of her many chins wobbling as she spoke. When Richard had retained Sir Richard Boyvile at Fotheringhay a year since, he had asked Cecily if the man’s wife might be a suitable attendant to take the place of Rowena, who had asked to return to her sickly husband’s
side. Cecily had found Gresilde’s cheerful henpecking a nice foil for Constance’s sharp intelligence, and so had readily agreed.

“Their manners are also colorful,” Constance said, when her turn came. “The dogs have never been happier—there are bones and scraps for all. And you will be pleased to hear, your grace, that lords Edward and Edmund are behaving themselves
impeccablement.
” She pulled the footstool closer to her mistress, her eyes shining. “When the White Earl made his toast to the duke, madam, and all those wild men stood quietly and bowed down to Lord Richard . . .
Bénit Vierge,
I wish you could see. He was like a king.”

Cecily glowed with pride then and later, when Richard opened the first Parliament and within a few hours had waded through a backlog of complaints and grievances brought by landowners and commoners, dealing so fairly with all that his praises were being sung far and wide in the Pale.

But after three days confined to a chair, staring at documents and listening to complaints, he was glad of the chance to get out in the fresh air and ride the thirty miles to Trim to settle a dispute.

Cecily was nearing her time but resisted begging him to stay. Recognizing the plea in her anxious eyes, he kissed her and said, “Never fear, I shall be gone but a day and a half, my love. I defy the child to arrive before my return.”

Cecily was loath to see him go but sent him off with a wave from her window.

A
T NOON ON
the twenty-first day of October, Cecily gave a final push after only two full hours of labor and was delivered of a healthy boy, distinguished by elegant fingers and long feet.

“Mark my words, he will be a handsome man and win many hearts, your grace,” Constance told Cecily, administering a potion of boneset and dried ewe’s blood to her mistress to help heal her womb. She had known as soon as they were born that neither of the last two boys would survive. They were both too early and both the color of tallow. But she had held her peace and prayed.

Cecily smiled, cradling the sleeping infant in her arms. “You are right, Constance. He has already won this woman’s heart.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Come now, your grace, we all know it will take a paragon to win Edmund’s place in his mother’s eyes.”

Cecily’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, dear, am I that transparent? But, Constance, I truly love them all—certes, for different reasons.”

“Aye, your grace.” She changed the subject. “What is to be his name?”

“I should like to name him after his father, but I should wait, I suppose.” Cecily had been disappointed that her pains had come when Richard had gone that morning to settle a dispute between a chieftain and a member of the Anglo-Irish gentry. She sighed. “I confess this birth was my easiest, and I am only a little tired. He looks like an angel, does he not?” Cecily murmured. “Let us hope he remains thus—for the most part. Angels can be so dull.”

“Your grace!” Constance spluttered. “Have a care. There may be some listening who will take offense—those that frequent Satan’s realm, I mean.”

“Pish,” Cecily retorted. “As long as all was left open, as we instructed, there are no evil spirits here to put a curse on this child.”

Constance chose not to tell her mistress that Dame Boyvile had forgotten to open the door to the garden at the bottom of the staircase when Cecily’s labor had begun. She had already prayed that the omission was not an ill omen.

“Dame Boyvile, I pray you leave word that I would have my husband attend me as soon as he returns. We cannot christen this babe until his father and I agree upon a name,” Cecily said, watching the young wet-nurse on the other side of the room unhook her bodice and prepare to satisfy her charge’s growing hunger. “I think we should name him Richard after his father, but my lord duke has denied my request thus far, he says, to avoid the confusion of two in the family.”

“G
EORGE,”
R
ICHARD DECIDED
, upon holding his son. “He does not look like me, in truth, and reminds me of your brother Latimer.”

Cecily smiled, remembering the adoration she had as a child for George Neville, now Lord Latimer. “Very well, my love, then George he shall be. But promise me the next shall be Richard.”

“The next, my lady?” Richard swung around, laughing. “How many more do you propose we have?”

“Why, as many as my body will allow,” Cecily retorted. “Are you forgetting that until these children grow up, I am the only one who can build the house of York,” Cecily replied, reluctantly thinking of the infant sons she had lost. “We must ensure our line is strong.”

Richard grunted his assent, making the baby jerk in his sleep. He sat down on the bed, contemplating their child. “He is a fine boy, my dear. We must make plans for him.”

“It occurs to me, Richard, that with the birth of this Irish prince, you have a chance to flatter our Irish hosts and throw two antagonists together where
they will not squabble. I have been thinking we should ask the White Earl and Desmond to stand as godparents. What think you?”

She had her answer in his respectful approval before he returned little George to his cradle and came back to her side to recount his actions in Parliament. Cecily rejoiced to see her husband’s face glowing with the confidence he had gained from governing this volatile province, where the English and Irish still had not come to terms with each other after three hundred years.

B
ABY
G
EORGE WAS
no more than a week old when Rouen was taken by the French. It did not take long for the shock wave to reach even such an outpost as Dublin.

“All is lost in Normandy, my lady,” Richard cried, bursting into Cecily’s private office, where she was dictating routine daily instructions to her steward. Cecily rose at once and went to take her husband’s hands, moved to find they were trembling. “Charles has taken Rouen—or I should say, Somerset has surrendered Rouen. The rest of Normandy will follow, ’tis certain.”

“Taken Rouen?” Cecily whispered. “’Tis not possible. Where was Somerset at the time? Where was the garrison?”

Richard wrenched his hands away and strode to the window, and the steward took the opportunity of slipping away. “He was there, for Christ’s sake! At Bouvreuil. With Talbot, your brother William, and Lord Roos, among others. It seems Somerset tried to defend it, but Roussel—you remember the archbishop—begged him to spare the city, and Somerset agreed to negotiate with Charles.” He let out a harsh laugh. “He negotiated first his own release along with his family’s and Talbot’s, but he was forced to leave behind hostages—and I regret your brother William is one.”

Cecily covered her mouth with her hand and sent up a prayer to St. George to watch over her sibling. She imagined herself back in the great hall of Bouvreuil, where she and Richard had hosted countless banquets, and pictured the three Beauchamp sisters—Margaret Talbot, Eleanor Beaufort, and her own sister-in-law Elizabeth Latimer—surrounded by their children and wondering what would become of them. She shivered. “What next?” she whispered. “Surely the king—and Suffolk—cannot support Somerset after this?”

“I know not, Cis. I cannot fathom the mind of this king. His opinions and decisions seem to bend like waving wheat—whichever way the wind blows. I have seen him hurry from a discussion clutching his prayer book and muttering that only God can give him guidance. He should have taken orders, in truth, for
he cannot give any.” He smiled grimly at his witticism. “A king should not have to ask God how to oust Suffolk from his position and reprimand Somerset for his incompetence. I must write to Salisbury and ask for his side of the story.”

Richard also wrote to the king and again requested payment for his military needs. But once again, his request was ignored.

H
OWEVER,
R
ICHARD
N
EVILLE
, earl of Salisbury, wasted no time with his reply.

Richard took the letter from Sir William Oldhall and, looking around at those gathered in one of the cozier rooms at Lacy Castle, their winter retreat in Trim, broke open the seal, glanced through the first page, and decided to read it aloud.

Right worthy brother and most noble duke of York, we greet you well. It is as you had thought. My lord of Suffolk has been reprimanded by Parliament, and charges have been brought to bear against him for disastrous policies and treasonable actions in France. Certes, he appealed to the king, who dismissed the charges forthwith, calling Suffolk his good and loyal servant.

Richard paused. “Misguided Henry bending with the wind again,” he muttered, staring up at the casement, where even in March a cold rain spattered the horned window panes. “Would that Somerset had been charged as well,” he growled.

Cecily sat watching him patiently. Gresilde sat quietly embroidering, Richard’s usher, Roger Ree, occupied the window seat, and Ned and Edmund sat on footstools near their father’s chair and tried to look interested. The two little girls were playing with a poppet on the bed, where Nurse Anne kept an eye on them.

Richard straightened the vellum and continued reading.

However, not a month later, after a second set of charges was leveled at him, William de la Pole, duke of Suffolk, was banished from our shores for a period of five years.

The listeners gasped, and Richard himself looked up, grim-faced. “Aye, it seems our king has been nurturing a traitor.” He looked down again at the letter in his hands.

Our sovereign lady, Queen Margaret, spoke bravely on his behalf to her lord, it was told to me, but this time the king could not gainsay Parliament. In truth, it was Suffolk’s agreeing privately to the marriage terms to cede Maine and Anjou that most angered the Commons. It did not help Suffolk’s cause that no heir has been forthcoming from the royal union, and people are grumbling that England has gained nothing from this marriage and yet lost much.

Richard paused again, and Cecily knew he was thinking of the last time he had gone before Parliament and tried to point out the mismanagement of the country and his ideas for reform. The king had been unnerved by the support York was gaining both in the council and in the country, although he could not find fault with the duke for his loyalty and duty to his royal person. Giving Somerset the governorship of Normandy and money to go with it had been the last straw for Richard, and he had spoken his mind. A mistake, Richard, Cecily thought, watching him now. You were your own worst enemy that day. If you had held your peace, you might yet be home in England and acknowledged as heir presumptive. Ah, Cis, should you criticize him when you have always nudged him to assert himself? Be fair.

She cleared her throat, reminding Richard that his audience was waiting. He looked back at the letter, glanced at the second page, and quickly declared, “’Tis all you need to know.” He had decided not to share the rest with anyone but Cecily, which he did later that evening.

Richard Neville wrote:

But what of the loss of Normandy? Far dearer to England than Maine and Anjou, you might agree. I fear it may astonish you to know that his grace of Somerset has returned and appears still to retain the favor of the king and, more nearly, of the queen. It makes little sense, but we are only minions doing the royal bidding. Surely the fall of English France will be blamed on Lancaster for ever, God help us.

“But not on York,” Cecily interrupted. “York is not to blame.”

Richard looked up, as if he were taking in what she had said, but he was remembering the last time he had been at court. “Perhaps ’tis as well we came to Ireland when we did, my lady. No one can say I have shirked my duty or not served my king.” He paused and frowned. “Who is now counseling him, I
wonder? I like not that Salisbury views himself a minion when he is one of the older members of the council.”

Cecily bit her lip. She never liked hearing criticism of her family, especially not of her eldest brother, but she had noticed he could be milk-and-water sometimes, so she said nothing. She had Meg on her lap engaging Bessie in a game of checkers, and she was delighted to see the younger girl outwit her sister in a move. She kissed the top of the golden head and murmured, “Well played, Meggie.” It was as well, she thought, that Elizabeth had a sweet, placid nature, for she would never match the boys or her younger sister in spirit or intelligence.

“Read on, Richard, I beg of you,” she said, motioning to Bessie over Meg’s head a move whereby the girl could get revenge.

Richard complied:

In other news, you must know that our dearly beloved son Richard came into his father-in-law Warwick’s title a few months ago through his Beauchamp wife, and having attained his majority is entitled to several estates through her. However, this has put our son in direct competition with our cousin Somerset, married to another Beauchamp daughter, and Somerset claims the land is his. I know not what will come of the conflict, but young Richard is not one to lie down and give up. If you meet him now, you will understand. Tell my sister that he has inherited more of her temperament than mine. Let me assure you that if you are on the same side as the new earl of Warwick, you will have a loyal and brave ally. But woe betide you if you are not.