Red Rose, White Rose (25 page)

‘God has been good to us, your grace,’ I said softly, hoping she saw the sympathy in my eyes; saw that I knew what it was to wait and hope and pray for the missed courses, the quickening womb.

If she did see it, her face remained expressionless. ‘He has indeed,’ she said flatly. ‘And will you travel to Dublin in your present condition, Lady Cicely?’

I was sure she could see the horror with which I greeted this idea. ‘Oh no, Madam, I could not undertake a sea journey.’ My back was beginning to ache and I shifted uncomfortably but still no gesture was made for me to rise.

Richard broke in, addressing his remarks to King Henry. ‘While I am here to accept your grace’s appointment, I also humbly request a postponement until my wife and family are able to accompany me to Ireland next year.’

Without appearing to give the matter any thought, the king nodded agreeably. ‘Of course, of course. As soon as you are able to travel please let our council know. Ireland is something of a thorn in our flesh. We will be grateful for your skilful governance there.’

Richard made no further response and the queen frowned. There was an awkward pause. Looking along our family line, I noticed that Anne was beginning to have trouble keeping little Margaret in position; there was much to attract the interest of a curious two-year-old. She whispered something to Anne about the queen’s gown which I could not catch but Queen Margaret obviously had sharper ears.

‘Yes, little girl,’ she said, ‘they are daisies. The daisy is my personal flower. Do you like them?’

Meg stared up at the queen with wide green eyes but she was struck dumb at being addressed directly and Elizabeth came to her rescue. ‘We sometimes make daisy chains in the garden but we like roses best – white roses.’

My heart was in my mouth and I glanced at Richard, who had inevitably worn his brilliant White Rose collar on this formal court occasion.

Queen Margaret gave a harsh little laugh. ‘Yes, we can see that but you have to be very careful with roses, do you not? They have sharp thorns.’

At this moment the Duke of Suffolk stepped forward from where he had been standing behind the thrones, bowing low. Doubtless William de la Pole had once been handsome but now, advanced in age and affluence, he was jowled and paunched, his profile blurred and his chins doubled. He handed the king a scroll, heavily laden with impressive seals. ‘Perhaps if you were to make the presentation, your grace, the duke and his family might be invited to rise?’

Although he was still a young man, at that moment King Henry gave the impression of a man on the cusp of his dotage, who had lost track of his own thoughts, for he gave a visible start, as if surprised to find that we all remained kneeling before him. ‘Oh yes, indeed, of course. Thank you, my lord of Suffolk. Here is your deed of office, Richard. I hope you are able to make good use of it. Please do stand up – and the rest of your family.’ He made urgent rising motions with his free hand. ‘We are happy to see you at court. We have much news to give you.’

As Richard got to his feet the scroll was abruptly and unceremoniously thrust into his hands and the king also rose from his throne and took his elbow to lead him down to join the Duke of Suffolk on the floor of the chamber, eagerly engaging them both in conversation. King Henry’s sudden lapse from the stiff formality of monarchy into the casual address of his youthful friendship with Richard was surprising and not a little disturbing. One minute he had seemed like an absent-minded old man and the next he had reverted to childhood ways. As I lumbered to my feet I noticed that Queen Margaret was frowning at the king’s display of friendly intimacy with his two nobles. Perhaps to her they made a disquieting trio. When she caught me watching her she rose from her throne and glanced around for her ladies-in-waiting. An attractive, middle-aged woman in a jewelled headdress stepped out from the courtier crowd, ushering a pair of young ladies forward to pick up the train of the queen’s mantle.

‘Ah, Alice, do you remember Cicely, Duchess of York?’ Queen Margaret said, waiting until her mantle was lifted before she descended the steps of the throne. ‘As you see, she has brought her children to meet us.’

Alice de la Pole was Suffolk’s wife and had been companion and adviser to Queen Margaret from the moment she left Nancy to travel to England for her marriage to King Henry. Alice and I had met a number of times, initially when my brother Hal married her stepdaughter, Alice of Salisbury, then again when I first came to court as Richard’s wife, which was shortly after she had taken the Earl of Suffolk as her third husband in rather romantic circumstances in France following the fall of Orleans. He had been taken prisoner soon after their wedding and she had returned to England to raise his ransom. Although she was ten years older than me, I think if we had ever been able to spend any time together, Alice and I could have been good friends, but our husbands’ circumstances had kept us largely apart and now their leadership of opposing affinities was set to make any fruitful relationship even less likely. Nevertheless, I was happy to reacquaint myself with this intelligent and lovely granddaughter of the famous poet Geoffrey Chaucer.

‘I was so happy to hear that since our last meeting you have had a son and heir yourself,’ I said to her, when we had exchanged formal greetings and all my children had gathered around us to be introduced. ‘He would be about the same age as Edward here, I think.’

I laid a hand on Edward’s shoulder and he gave Alice a characteristically winning smile. ‘I am almost exactly six and a half,’ he informed her politely. ‘My birthday is in April. When is your son’s birthday, my lady?’

The Duchess of Suffolk returned his smile with a delighted one of her own. ‘John is not quite as old as you,’ she replied. ‘He was six only last month. Nor is he as tall as you, Edward.’

‘I am lucky,’ my loquacious son declared. ‘I take after my grandsire who was six feet and four inches tall. He was the Earl of Westmorland.’

‘Yes, I know. I met him once. My stepdaughter is your Uncle Salisbury’s wife and I met him at their wedding. It is a small world, Edward, is it not?’

During this exchange I had followed Queen Margaret’s gaze which had wandered back to the king, who was still in earnest discussion with Richard and the Duke of Suffolk. They had withdrawn to a window embrasure and, judging by Richard’s guarded expression, were involved in a conversation which he did not find at all palatable. As we both watched, Richard exploded into furious speech at which the king recoiled and Suffolk shrugged.

Without a word or a glance in my direction, the queen walked off towards the window, catching her train-bearers by surprise so that they had to scurry after her to prevent her mantle becoming snagged. Alice broke off her conversation with Edward. ‘What has happened?’ she asked me anxiously, seeing the queen move so swiftly across the chamber. ‘Is something wrong?’

I shook my head. ‘Something has been said that has caused Richard to become angry. The queen appears to think the king needs her.’

‘Then shortly the queen will need me,’ said Alice with a sigh. ‘I had better follow her. I would like to speak more with you, Cicely. I will look for you as soon as I can get away.’

If it had not been for the children, I would have been left standing alone and isolated in the midst of the crowd of courtiers, not one of whom appeared to wish to speak to the Duchess of York. It was a moment that made it painfully clear how extremely Lancastrian the court had become. For present members even to be seen talking to a member of the York family was clearly considered unwise and so, for a few fraught minutes, I stood holding Meg’s hand while the other four children, brows creased in bewilderment, simply stared back at the people who were staring at them. Accustomed as they were to appearing at York gatherings where most were known to them and everyone was a family friend, they must have felt, as I did, like freaks in a fairground exhibit.

I was contemplating taking the children home when Richard came striding over to us, his arm raised, clutching the seal-hung scroll of office which condemned us to Irish exile. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘we have got what we came for and the kingdom has lost more than it bargained for. It is time to leave this sorry court.’

Our exit was a good deal less formal than our entrance had been and it took place amid a chorus of tuttings, made I presumed because we had not sought royal permission to leave. It was not until we were standing in the vast palace courtyard, waiting for grooms to bring our horses from the stables, that Richard explained the cause of his outburst to the king and our unceremonious departure.

‘The truce with France is a shambles,’ he revealed. ‘I knew there was more to that treaty than met the eye. Apparently Suffolk not only agreed that the queen would be acceptable without a dowry but also that King Henry would hand Anjou and Maine back to French sovereignty. King Charles has threatened to invade Maine if it is not ceded to him by next month and Henry intends to let him have it. That accursed Frenchwoman has not only bewitched our king but she has beggared his kingdom. And Suffolk can say what he likes about Henry having approved the deal but he was the one who signed the treaty. Wait until the people learn of this. They will demand Suffolk’s head!’

Given Richard’s violent antipathy towards the Earl of Suffolk, it was fortunate that he was not at Coldharbour the following day, when I was surprised by a visit from Alice de la Pole. As a favour to my brother, Will Fauconberg, I had taken his two older daughters into my household to supervise their education and was teaching my fifteen-year-old niece, Joan, the proper way to address letters to the various ranks of the nobility when a page announced her. After greeting Alice warmly, I told him to arrange refreshments and shooed Joan from my solar, telling her I would continue our lesson later.

‘Joan’s mother is sweet but simple-minded,’ I explained to Alice as I joined her at the hearth where a coal fire glowed. ‘Her father is my brother Lord Fauconberg, who is Captain of Rochester Castle, and she and her sisters would not receive the care they deserve and need if I did not supervise it. Fortunately, none of them suffer their mother’s affliction. They are bright and intelligent girls and no trouble.’

‘You Nevilles are a large family, I know,’ said Alice. ‘Let me just say how sorry I am that your visit to court was cut short, Cicely. I had hoped to have more conversation with you but when I am serving the queen she tends to demand my close attention. However, I will say now what I could not say in front of the queen. You have a lovely family and such a promising son and heir.’

‘Well thank you, Alice. We are proud of all our children,’ I said, thinking that she surely could not have come simply to say that.

This quickly proved to be the case. Her next remarks were clearly intended to be the advice of an older woman who was more familiar than I with the ways of King Henry’s court. ‘We tend to keep our John away from court,’ she added. ‘Children are a subject that distresses Queen Margaret, as perhaps you can imagine. She is not deaf to the whispers about her barrenness and now that the news is out about the king agreeing to return Maine and Anjou to the French, she knows that her popularity will plummet.’

I noted Alice’s careful omission of her husband’s part in the fateful marriage treaty and I wondered how much it troubled her. She would know as well as anyone of the people’s love for the king’s hero-father, the fifth Henry, and the national sense of triumph that his conquests in France had engendered. Future prospects did not look good for Queen Margaret, especially if she could not provide the people with an heir to the throne, but nor were they rosy for Alice’s husband, the Earl of Suffolk, who had negotiated the dreadful treaty and brought the penniless bride to England. No matter how much he was a favourite of the king, he would need all his political skill to avoid taking responsibility for the whole French fiasco.

Meanwhile Alice revealed a further reason for her visit. ‘I imagine you will soon be travelling back to Fotheringhay, before riding becomes too uncomfortable for you and I wanted to ask you to keep in touch. Even if we are unable to meet again soon, we can exchange letters and, in case you think I have an ulterior motive in asking you this, I promise not to show your letters to the queen, or to my husband. Let us keep them strictly between us.’

The fact that she felt she had to say this showed how shaky was the ground beneath us and how shadowy the future. I shivered and took her hands in mine. ‘I promise to write and to think kindly of you, Alice,’ I said, ‘whatever happens.’

Her lips twitched and she nodded, then she squeezed my hands in return. I realized more clearly than ever that our family visit to court had achieved nothing and may even have made a bad situation worse.

Dublin Castle & Carrickfergus Castle
The Dublin Pale & The County of Ulster

Cuthbert

I
did not know precisely when things started to go wrong between Cicely and Richard but she certainly became very depressed during Advent, when another baby son died soon after birth. The tiny body of John was laid to rest beside his brothers Henry and William in the Lady Chapel of the church at Fotheringhay. I am not saying that Cicely did not love her three daughters but I can imagine that the loss of three infant sons must cause a woman much heartache and Richard cannot have relieved her misery when he insisted that rather than taking them to Ireland, a new and independent household should be set up for Edward and Edmund at Ludlow in order for them to learn the process of lordship by administering, nominally at least, the extensive Mortimer holdings of the Earldom of March. He never said so, but I wondered if in fact he had been ordered to leave his sons in England as hostages, to deter him from conspiring against the crown while he was in Ireland. I would not have put it past the wily Earl of Suffolk to persuade the king of a necessity for this.