Thwarted Queen (40 page)

Warwick was delighted, and as my nephew and my son conversed, a scene played itself out in my mind, something I had been vaguely thinking of, but had not articulated. When folk grow old, it is the custom for the widowed mother to live with her eldest son in a quiet retirement. But I had been too deeply wounded by Edward’s marriage for that to be possible. Suppose I lived with George instead? I adored George; he always made me feel cheerful and energetic. And Bella would be a fine wife for him. Perhaps I could live out my life in the company of George and his family.

George offered me his arm, and we left for the formal banquet that Edward was giving as part of the Christmas celebrations at court. These celebrations were very elaborate, both in terms of the number of courses served, as well as the strict protocol the Serpent insisted on. I was very glad to have my handsome son beside me, radiating energy and good cheer, for I found these occasions wearisome in the extreme.

“Now remember,” I said in a low voice, “today is the feast of Christ’s birth, of peace and joy upon the land. We must put on a good appearance of one happy family. You understand, my son?”

George’s expression darkened.

“You will be polite to the queen.” I was careful not to call her by her nickname in front of George, because he was acquiring a disturbing tendency to blurt out secrets. But now I was going to take George firmly in hand. First, it was imperative that he learn some skills to arm himself against the Serpent’s poison.

“What would you have me do?” said George, his lower lip jutting out sulkily.

“The only way to deal with her is to be polite and ignore everything she says. She will attempt to bait you, to goad you into saying things you should not say. Remember it gives her the greatest pleasure to upset us. You must, however, remain silent or turn the conversation. Try not to listen to her, and whatever you do, you must not rise to her bait. She is adept at spotting her opponent’s weaknesses.”

George nodded and I took his arm again. I resolved to stay as close to him as I could without being too obvious about it.

The Serpent was ensconced by the fire, clad in a magnificent dress of silver and blood-red brocade. In four and a half years of marriage, she’d given Edward two children, both daughters, and now she was heavily pregnant with their third child. Edward sat next to her, and of course her numerous Woodville relatives surrounded them: her father and mother, her six brothers, and her nine sisters with their stolen husbands.

I was forced to sit by the windows, facing them, with Warwick and his family on one side, and George on the other. Icy fingers of air made their way through the casements, chilling my fingers. I placed them in the folds of my new velvet gown.

A flurry of movement caught my eye. One of the Serpent’s sisters, Jacqueline, had wandered over a few feet away and started nibbling at some nuts. She looked like a rabbit with her fine, strong teeth, and as she talked, she continued to nibble.

“How fare you, sweet Johnny?” she said to her brother. Sir John Woodville was a well-made young man of three-and-twenty years.

“I fare well,” he replied evenly.

“How does marriage suit you?” Nibble, nibble.

“She is very kind.”

“She does not excite your passion then?” Nibble, nibble.

John sighed but made no reply.

“Is she not too old for you?” Nibble.

John occupied himself in taking his new kid gloves off. They were dyed black to match his hose and fit perfectly to his shapely hands.

“How have you the patience to bear it? Why, she has no teeth, her breath is foul, and she—”

John shushed his sister with a wave of his hand.

I turned. Cath stood in the doorway. Her eyes moved slowly around the room, and as they lighted on her husband John, she smiled. She went over to kiss him full on the lips.

“I found the tincture I told you about, the one for sore throats and colds. Come with me, my darling.”

During this speech, John made various gestures, intended to slow the volume and rapidity of Cath’s speech. At seventy-one, she was deaf and difficult to understand, having lost most of her teeth. She stood there, looking at her husband lovingly, drooling; when suddenly noticing this, she fumbled for a kerchief, flushed, and excused herself.

Poor Cath; my heart ached. I glanced at my son Edward. He was talking to my Richard, clapping him on the back and laughing merrily. And Richard’s face showed an unusual amount of animation.

I made myself sit ramrod straight in my seat, gritting my teeth to forestall the impending headache always produced by the Serpent’s presence. But

Jacqueline had not the good manners to hide the look of disgust on her face. “Couldn’t you get this marriage annulled?”

Her bell-like voice rang out as silence suddenly filled the room. My gorge rose. I stood.

“Don’t you think you should keep your wicked thoughts to yourself?” I snapped. The nibbling stopped.

The Serpent, her face impassive, rose and faced me. Casually stifling a yawn, she lumbered slowly towards George and held out her hand. “Come, brother. Come, keep me company. You know how to play piquet, no?”

George flushed as he rose and bowed to her. They went to sit near the fireplace with her family.

I went slowly back towards my place near the window, taking care to take a seat that was in earshot of the proceedings.

“You’re a good-looking boy, you should be married,” the Serpent said.

Nineteen-year-old George smiled but refrained from saying anything.

The Serpent deftly cut the cards and shuffled. “I have a little sister.”

“Another sister?” blurted out George. “I thought your sisters to be all married.”

“All except for one. My sister Agnes would do very well for you.”

I should have been prepared for this, but I was not. Was there no end to the Serpent’s coils? I drew my handkerchief from my sleeve, and dried my moist palms.

“How old is the lady?”

“She turned twelve last month. She’s a sweet child, and well suited to you.” The Serpent stared at George, as she dealt the cards. “She pouts, and sulks, and is easily led.” She paused, and smiled. “She would be the perfect playmate for your little games.”

George sat stone still, a flush spreading slowly up his neck, staring at the card-strewn table before him. Suddenly, he leapt up, knocking over his chair. “How dare you insult me like this!” George jutted out his lower lip, making him look exactly like a sulky child.

The Serpent smiled sweetly.

I put my finger to my lips, but George ignored me.

“I already have a bride,” he said.

The Serpent’s cat’s eyes went wide.

“Sweeting!” she called across the room to Edward. “Were you aware that your dear brother planned to marry?”

Edward rose, his blue eyes blazing. “Who is she?”

George faced him, scowling. “You don’t have any right—”

“Who is she?”

George flicked a look over at me.

I nodded.

“Cousin Bella.”

“What?” roared Edward.

“Why not?”

Edward shushed him with a wave of his hand. “I expressly forbid you,” he said loudly into the dead silence that followed, “to marry your cousin Bella.”

“It’s not right!” exclaimed George. “You block me at every turn. You prevented my marriage to Mary of Burgundy. Now you won’t let me marry Bella. Just because you’ve married a whore yourself doesn’t mean you can prevent me from making a good match.”

Edward went white. “You will apologize,” he said in a voice that cut like a knife.

George glared at him as Warwick went to stand by his side.

Edward put his hand on the Serpent’s shoulder. “You are talking of my wife, your liege lady, and my Queen.”

The Serpent covered his hand with her own and turned to smile up at him. They were a fortress together against the rest of the world. How had I failed in my attempts to pry Edward away from the Serpent?

My belly filling with ice, slowly, I stood.

Gradually, everyone in the room turned to stare at me.

“I am displeased with you, my son,” I said. My voice rang like a bell in the thick silence. “You have grievously offended your family, your cousin Warwick, your brothers George and Richard, and your mother. I am deeply hurt by what you have done. All my life, I have supported and cherished you, yet how do you repay me?” I paused and jabbed my finger at the Serpent: “By marrying someone who is not worthy.”

Edward flushed and took a step towards me. He said loudly, “She
is
worthy, Mother.”

I lifted my chin and stared him down. “She is a canker in the House of York. She is destroying it even as we speak.”

Edward narrowed his eyes and went pale. The silence was deafening.

“I am disappointed. I thought you once worthy to be my lord husband’s heir. Instead, I see you betray your father’s low origins.”

There was a swelling murmur as folk turned to each other and whispered.

“My father was the Duke of York.”

“
Your
father,” said I, my voice tinkling like ice, “was an archer on the Rouen garrison. His name was Blaybourne. His father, your grandsire, was not even a knight, but a humble blacksmith—”

“You lie!” roared Edward, coming towards me.

“I do not,” I replied. I turned to face everyone in the room. “I am willing to go before a public enquiry to answer any questions, even to swear an oath on Holy Writ or saint’s bones or a vial of the most precious blood of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, that what I say is most true. This man,” I indicated Edward, “Is a bastard. He is a fraud and an impostor, and I have made him so, for I loved and dedicated my life to him.”

My voice broke. How I had loved Blaybourne. How I had allowed Edward’s likeness to my lover to blind me to his faults.

“I see now how wrong I was. For you cannot make a noble out of dross. He is my child, yes, but no blood relation to the Duke of York, my late husband.”

My voice rose at the end of this speech. I felt someone beside me. It was Richard.

“Mother!” he exclaimed, his blue-grey eyes cloudy with distress.

Was he worried about his own paternity? I would set the record straight.

“The true heir to the throne of England is my son George, followed in succession by his younger brother Richard. They are my lord husband’s legitimate heirs.”

My voice rang eerily through that packed chamber. I paused for a moment, then allowed Richard to lead me to my rooms.

The last thing I remember just before the door shut was a tableau of Edward, white and shaking on one side of the room, and George, standing proud and tall on the other side of the room, his blue-green eyes blazing with excitement.

Chapter 57

December 1468 to March 1469

Within the hour, I left for Fotheringhay. It was time for me to retire and lead a life of quiet contemplation.

They came for me in March.

I was standing in the collegiate church of Fotheringhay, talking to the glazier who had just finished beautifying the windows at my direction.

“We come from the king!” someone shouted.

I ignored this individual, for I was not accustomed to being greeted in such a rough manner.

My steward appeared, breathless from running. “They say they are from the king, madam.” He bowed.

I turned and fixed the churls with an icy stare. There were ten of them, dressed simply, in leather jerkins and nondescript woolen clothing. They carried quarter-staves and sported daggers in their belts. They looked like the sort of rude men-of-arms one would use to garrison a castle, not deal with a great lady. The person with the loud voice took a scroll out of his leather bag, unrolled it, and declaimed as follows:

From Edward, King of England, to Cecylee, Duchess of York, Greetings.

I, Edward, King of England, do arrest you, Cecylee Duchess of York, on the charge of treason for bruiting abroad scurrilous rumors about my person. I command you, therefore, to follow these men to Berkhamsted, where I shall confine you under armed guard for the rest of your life.

I frowned. Before I could make sense of this, one of the churls grabbed my arm. “It is time to go, my fine lady.”

I shook him off.

“We have orders to escort you to Berkhamsted.”

“Impossible. I cannot go now. And be so good as to take your filthy paw off my arm.”

The men guffawed. “I see you are not called Proud Cis for nothing,” one of them remarked.

“Proud Cis! Proud Cis! Proud Cis!” chanted the others.

A cold wind blew, and my flesh hardened into ice. If these men truly were from Edward, it meant there was nothing he might not do to insult and humiliate me.

“I demand to see the warrant,” I said, my voice high.

The men laughed again. “Quite a mouse we have here,” remarked one wit.

My steward stood in front of them. “You are insulting the king’s mother.”

The loud-mouthed man curled his lip. “If she tears it up and burns it, let her know that I have other copies, signed and sealed by the king’s hand.”

I took the warrant from my steward and scanned it. It was signed by Edward, I recognized his writing and his seal.

I crumpled onto a stone seat. “What about my household?”

“The king, your son, declares that you will do without a household. You are to leave forthwith. He will brook no delay.”