Queen by Right (70 page)

“Rise, duchess. You have nothing to fear from me. I give you my word. I will have you escorted to my pavilion together with your children and your attendants.”

He signaled to Humphrey Stafford, duke of Buckingham, to come forward and make the arrangements for Cecily’s transport to the royal tent. And then, as if he thought he had done enough, he turned and with his bodyguard trotted back down Broad Street and over Ludford Bridge.

Buckingham dismounted, put Cecily on his own horse, and prepared to lead the party out over Ludford Bridge. No one had given the order to stop the pillaging, and those soldiers left behind in the town took advantage of the inattention to enjoy themselves further at the expense of the people of Ludlow. Houses were looted and then burned and townsfolk raped, killed, or maimed simply for being York’s vassals.

As they reached the fine stone bridge over the Teme amid fearful screams, a frantic shout halted Buckingham’s group, and Cecily turned back abruptly when she recognized Piers Taggett’s voice.

“I tried to stop them, your grace!” he cried, rounding the corner of a lane and attempting to reach his mistress. Frowning, Cecily noticed something was badly wrong with him, and then with a groan of horror she saw that his arm was missing and blood was pouring from his shoulder onto the wet, uneven street. “I swear I tried to stop them,” he shouted, clutching the ghastly wound, “but the doctor was the only woman left in the castle when the soldiers broke in. God help me!” He lurched forward then as a well-aimed arrow found its mark in his back behind his heart.

“Piers!” Cecily cried, George’s screams ringing in her ears. She leaned down
to Buckingham. “My lord! Humphrey! Brother-in-law! I beg of you let me go to the man. He is my loyal servant.”

Without hesitation Buckingham swung her off the horse and carried her to the dying Piers. She cradled his head in her lap, wrapping her cloak around his shivering body and hiding the hideous stub of flesh and bone that had been his right arm. He would never again ride to the hunt, never hold his beloved falcons, never more be by her side to protect her.

“Dear Piers, do not leave me now,” she sobbed, allowing the grief of the past night and morning to engulf her. “I need you. My children need your protection. Sweet Mary, Mother of God, have mercy on this brave man. He has served me so well.” Her tears wet his face as he gazed up at his mistress for the last time. Darkness was closing in on him, but he managed a few final words, wrenching Cecily’s heart. “Do not forget your Piers, duchess . . . he loved you well . . . by Jesus, but I am tired.” He closed his eyes gratefully, his head rolled to one side, and dark blood trickled from his mouth on his last sighing breath, staining her azure gown.

Buckingham knelt down, gently moved the big falconer, and motioned to his captain to have his men put the body over one of the horses. Cecily sat slumped on the ground, staring at her empty lap. Her eye fell on her ruby ring and a sob caught in her throat; it was the ring that had brought Piers into her life.

“Come, Cecily,” Humphrey of Buckingham murmured kindly to his wife’s youngest sister. “There is naught you can do for him now. We shall bury him later and I will send my confessor to say a prayer with you at his grave.” He led her back to his horse and again lifted her onto the saddle. She was as one dead, he thought sadly. So brave and strong in the marketplace, but now it seemed the life had drained from her. He wondered, as he moved the little procession forward, what would become of her now. “No woman of her noble blood,” he muttered to his captain, “should have to suffer such an ordeal. Let us hope this is the end of it.” And he silently railed against Richard, duke of York, for abandoning his wife to such cruel scenes of war.

B
UCKINGHAM WAS WRONG.
Cecily’s ordeal that day was not over.

Making their way slowly through the ranks of soldiers now lounging around campfires awaiting orders to disperse or march back to Coventry, Buckingham’s charges eyed the king’s army with a mixture of suspicion and relief. Cecily’s three children, mounted pillion, followed behind the leaders with glum faces,
while the stunned attendants stumbled behind the horses with an escort of six guards on either side of them. At the back of the army and set on a knoll was the king’s blue and white striped pavilion, royal lions flying. Several men were ranged around the opening, and Cecily recognized two of her husband’s friends, Lord Powis and Sir Walter Devereaux, who were both fettered. She presumed they were taking advantage of the king’s offer of a pardon on this eve of St. Edward’s Day, and she gave them a curt nod.

“The king would see you immediately, your grace,” Viscount Beaumont, Henry’s chamberlain, told Cecily after Buckingham had helped her to the ground. He bowed low. “If you will follow me.”

“And my children?” Cecily asked, watching her offspring slide down into the waiting arms of their riders and making sure they were all safe. “May they accompany me, sir?” She held out her arms and Dickon and George ran to her, followed by tall, solemn Meg, who was doing her best to be stoic.

“I think not at this time, duchess,” the chamberlain responded. “The king would give you a private audience. I shall see to it that your children are given some refreshment, and a tent has been assigned to you. They and your attendants may await you there.”

Cecily embraced her children and reassured them that she would be with them soon, admonishing the boys to listen to Meg. She watched them move off, then followed her escort into the spacious tent, the back of which was rolled up to let in air and light. It seemed to Cecily that the king had all the accoutrements of a comfortable residence here on the battlefield, including a canopied bed and a small throne. Cecily got down on her knees when Henry entered and took his seat on the throne, and she fixed her gaze firmly on the grassy floor.

“I trust you were treated with dignity, duchess,” Henry greeted her.

“Aye, your most gracious highness, and I must thank you for your mercy to me and my children.”

“You are fortunate, are you not,
madame,
to have so magnanimous a sovereign?” Margaret of Anjou’s voice shocked Cecily into looking up. Had she been there all along? she wondered, her heart pounding. She had not expected to see Margaret here, on the battlefield. Certes! ’Tis why those men with the swan livery were rampaging through Ludlow. They were Prince Edouard’s troops, albeit under his mother’s command. The queen continued to threaten: “A lesser lord might have been delighted to execute you like the traitor you are!” she spat. “Or thrown you into a dungeon with your brood.”

Henry raised his hand. “Soft, my dear lady. We have no quarrel with Duchess Cecily. She is our loyal friend, are you not?”

Cecily was gathering her wits and could only bow her head in a sign of assent. But then she lifted it to gaze directly at Margaret. Cecily’s look spoke plainly: I may be your captive, madam, but you have no hold on my spirit despite your threats. And for the first time in their acquaintance, even after all the years of conflict between the queen and Richard, Cecily felt real hatred. She saw it in Margaret’s eyes, and she made certain she reflected it back tenfold from her own.

Then the duchess turned to the king. “I submit myself to you, your grace, and to you alone. I beg your indulgence for my attendants, who have served me well. I have nowhere to go save at your highness’s pleasure.”

Henry cleared his throat as his eyes shifted from Margaret to Cecily. Cecily pitied him for a second, but then found herself impatient with his weakness, boasting to herself that Richard would have known immediately how to act. Her expression, thankfully, did not reflect her scorn.

The few councillors grouped in one corner of the tent watched the scene intently. Henry now looked to them for help, but before Viscount Beaumont could step forward, the queen bent and whispered to her husband. Cecily, still kneeling, could not hear, but she did not like the sneer on Margaret’s face. Cecily could feel the dampness in the ground seeping into her knees through her azure gown.

The king’s face was now wreathed in smiles. “An excellent idea, my lady,” he said to his wife, who smiled sweetly down at Cecily. “Her grace believes you will be well looked after in the bosom of your family, if his grace of Buckingham would find a place in his household for you and your children. Your sister Anne is one of the queen’s favored ladies-in-waiting and our dear son’s godmother, as you must know.” He called to his chamberlain. “Sir Richard, I beg of you, send my lord Buckingham to us.”

Cecily knew with a sinking heart that the duke of Buckingham would not refuse his king this order, and she understood perfectly well how Margaret of Anjou had triumphed, even if Henry remained oblivious. To be in Anne’s custody would be uncomfortable for Cecily, as the queen would know, being well acquainted with the sisters’ mutual animosity, and Anne, in her turn, would be delighted to assert her authority over her youngest sister. But Cecily did not dare demur.

“And now, your grace, is there anything else I may do for you?” Henry was asking her, wanting to end this uncomfortable audience. Cecily blinked at
him, but his words then suddenly conjured up a memory of a scene in Bouvreuil when the boy king had spoken to her, and she wondered if he would recall it now.

“You are kind, my lord, as I have always known. A long time ago in Rouen, you promised a very young woman, embarrassed by her poor skill at the lute, that she might ask a favor of you one day. Do you remember, sire?” She glanced at Margaret, who was now scowling.

Henry’s face lit up. “Forsooth and forsooth, Duchess Cecily, I do remember. I spilled a cup of wine and you kindly covered my clumsiness. Certes, I will grant you a favor. I am a man of my word.”

Cecily smiled then as Margaret took a step forward warily, wondering of what nature this favor might be.

“My physician, my constant companion and beloved Constance LeMaître”—Cecily faltered as she pronounced the name—“was the woman I mentioned to you in the marketplace who was violated and slain. I would ask that her body be found and brought to my tent so that my ladies and I can prepare it for burial. It is all that I ask of you, your grace.”

Henry’s eyes filled with tears. “Pray accept my deepest sympathies, duchess, and I shall pray for her soul. Your loss must be great.” He sighed. “Ah, war is a cruel thing, is it not? Lord Beaumont, see to it that the poor lady’s body is recovered.”

“I thank you with all my heart,” Cecily murmured.

Henry waved her to stand, signaling the audience was ended. “We shall see what Humphrey Stafford has to say. God be with you, Duchess Cecily.”

Somehow she stood tall and straight and then walked slowly by the gloating courtiers and out onto the hill where only a few days ago she had been hawking with Piers. She was in a haze of disbelief that in twenty-four hours her life had so horribly unraveled.

25
England, 1460

W
hat did you expect, Cecily?” Anne snapped at her sister during Advent, two long months after the rout at Ludford Bridge. “Your husband took up arms against his king. Certes, all knew he would be attainted.”

“Enough of your unkindness, Nan,” Humphrey Stafford interrupted, easing his large frame into a chair. He had been wounded in the face at St. Albans and was now in the habit of covering the livid scar across his cheek with his hand. He had been touched when Cecily had sympathized with him about it on the ride to Henry’s tent. His wife, however, had shrieked in horror when he had first returned to her and kept him from her bed. “I am certain Cecily was fully aware that Parliament would have no choice but to attaint York and the other earls for acting so rashly and wrongly,” he told Anne. “Old Sir William Oldhall was also on the list. I was surprised, too, to learn that Salisbury’s wife, Alice, had been named.”

This made Cecily raise her eyes from her needlework and stare at Humphrey. “Alice? What has she done, my lord? As far as I knew, she stayed at home in Middleham when her lord left to join mine at Ludlow. I did not know you could attaint a woman.” She shivered. Poor Alice, where would she go now?

“She was conspiring to raise troops for her husband against the king,” Humphrey explained. “As heiress to the Montagu fortune, she will forfeit that now.”

Cecily harrumphed. “I suppose Nan and I should be grateful to be younger daughters. We had not a penny from our father when he died.”

Humphrey chuckled and Anne gave a small smile. They were sitting in the solar of Maxstoke Castle, not far from the city of Warwick on the Coleshill road. A pleasant moated and fortified manor, the castle was set in the lush
Warwickshire countryside with a large park, where Humphrey had promised Cecily could hunt when the weather was better. Cecily had borne her enforced custody with resignation, though she had endured just about enough of Anne’s resentment at her sister’s enforced presence in her house and her spiteful insinuations that Richard had abandoned her.

“Have you no compassion, Nan?” Cecily cried, not long after she had taken up residence with the Buckinghams. “I know not if I will ever see my husband or my elder sons again. Try to imagine my misery.”