Daughter of York (84 page)

“Thanks be to God,” muttered the crowd, crossing themselves. Edward nodded to the musicians, who began to play quietly, signaling for the guests to resume their chatter.

“Mother, dear Mother. How I have longed for this moment. Give me your blessing,” Margaret said, on her knees in front of Cecily and kissing her hand. Cecily lightly touched her daughter’s forehead and murmured a blessing. Margaret rose and took her seat between Cecily and Edward. “I was afraid you would not come. ’Tis a long way from Berkhamsted for some oysters, flampayns and porpoise.”

“So you remember my favorite dishes, Margaret,” Cecily said, pleased. “Certes, I would not miss a chance to see you, my dear. Yet you should feel honored, for you must also remember how much I hate long journeys.” Margaret nodded, memories of long days on the road to Fotheringhay flooding back. “I must say, daughter, you wear your office well.” She leaned sideways to whisper in Margaret’s ear. “You are the envy of every woman here today, aye, even the beautiful Elizabeth.” Cecily had never
really approved of her daughter-in-law, and Margaret suspected Edward’s choice had been one of the reasons why her mother had withdrawn from the court.

“You exaggerate, Mother,” she answered. “But I will take a compliment from you gladly,” she said. She was amazed at how clear Cecily’s skin still was. Her face was lined a good deal more, and her hands showed the bumps and knobs of joint stiffness, but no one would guess she was born on the third of May in the same year Agincourt was fought, sixty-five years ago. It always seemed to Margaret that sharing the same birthday with her mother was important. A good omen perhaps. Now it was her turn to whisper, “I know not how Ned has grown so corpulent. He worries me, in truth. Listen to him breathe. I have heard better in the sick wards of St. John’s hospital in Bruges, where I minister.”

Cecily shook her head sadly. “I know not. And his court is dissolute, Margaret. I am shocked to see that harlot Jane Shore is invited here. I cannot understand why Elizabeth allows it.”

“The Duchess Isabella had it worse, Mother. My father-in-law had twenty-three bastards by various mistresses, and they were all in positions of power at court when I arrived.”

Cecily pursed her lips in disapproval. “I hope you did not have to consort with any of them. But now I remember, Antoine, who fought Scales, was one of them, no? I hope your husband was more circumspect, Margaret. You were happy, dear?” she asked, not observing that Margaret almost choked on her wine. She was disappointed Margaret had borne no children but had the tact to say nothing. “I was sorry to hear of his untimely death—like your father’s.”

Margaret mumbled something unintelligible in response to the query but immediately began to extol the virtues of her two step-grandchildren. And then she turned the subject to Dickon’s bastards. Cecily shrugged. “John is a nice boy. And Katherine over there is a beauty. I never saw the mother, but then I believe Richard has been faithful to little Anne since he married her.”

Margaret did not like to tell her mother that indeed she had seen Richard’s mistress, Kate, right under her nose at Stratford Langthorne. She followed her mother’s gaze to a group of the royal children talking animatedly to each other. A petite young woman, perhaps twelve or thirteen judging from her sprouting breasts, was the center of attention, her long chestnut hair a crowning glory above a sweet but mischievous face.

“They do not look at all alike, the brother and sister, I mean,” Margaret said. “But it seems Richard is very proud of his son.”

Cecily nodded. “And the dark-haired boy next to John is Arthur, Edward’s bastard. The Wayte wanton was discarded soon after his birth, I remember, but no one speaks to me of such gossip. There are others, I assume, but Ned at least has the decency not to parade them here. I hear the queen does not care for that boy, though,” she sighed, shaking her head as she looked at her son’s growing brood. “Arthur, I mean.”

“Certes, I am having a difficult task absorbing so much in such a little time,” Margaret said, scarcely believing she was having this conversation with her proud parent. Bastards, mistresses, dissolute court—these were not topics she thought Proud Cis would even mention, let alone speak about to her youngest daughter. She suppressed a laugh.

“What are you two whispering about,” Edward interrupted them. “I have just been given the signal that our dinner awaits. Mother, will you let Margaret’s elegant escort take you in? As the guest of honor, Margaret must go with me. Are you ready, sister?” He stood and offered his arm, and the court watched in silence as the king and the duchess led the way into the great hall to a fanfare of trumpets.

And thus began the banquet of the era, as Margaret was to dub her family reunion.

The tables were set with spotless white linen, the king’s table covered by crimson cloth of gold. The sunlight streamed in through the two-story windows, glinting off the silver plate and cups on the head tables. After the ritual handwashing and grace said by Bishop Morton, the first of the three courses was brought in to the sound of smacking lips and whispers of anticipation. Elizabeth relaxed her silence at meal rule on this occasion, which made for a convivial ambience. The servers were clothed in murrey and blue from their soft bonnets to their parti-colored hose.

Soon the messes were filled with mouthwatering delicacies. Neighbors shared the food, spearing fish and fowl onto their own trenchers, sopping gravy with hunks of bread and quaffing quantities of wine. Each course began with a soup, and then it was a choice of roasted exotic game birds such as crane, egret, bittern and heron; fish—bream, carp and pike wrapped in paper-thin gold foil; followed by custards and flampayns.

Edward was happy to see the haunches of venison, mutton and beef appear and swamped them generously with rich sauces. Margaret was not surprised her brother weighed as much as a small horse as she watched him devour dish after dish, helped down with half loaves of bread and cups of wine. At one point he belched so loudly that the room went silent, thinking he was saying something important. He guffawed when he realized he had everyone’s attention, not caring that he had a mouthful of food and had dribbled gravy down his magnificent purple gown.

“Eat! Eat!” he bellowed, thoroughly enjoying himself. Elizabeth’s smile never faded, but her eyes were hard.

Cecily, who was given a place of honor on his left side, lost her temper. She rapped his knuckles with her spoon when the conversation resumed and spoke in a lowered but threatening voice. “Edward, your eating habits are reprehensible. I should visit you more often and then perhaps you would curb your appetites—all your appetites. Your court could benefit from some good Christian guidance, my boy.” She glared at him and dared him to respond. Margaret bit the inside of her cheek so that she would not laugh and waited to see what Ned would do.

He stared dumbfounded at his elderly mother. No one ever spoke to him this way. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, leaving a stringy piece of meat dangling from the ermine trim of his sleeve, and gulped down more wine. Margaret could have sworn she heard him mutter, “Aye, Mother,” but she could not be certain. He did, however, put down his knife, wipe his hands and push away his plate.

“I have had enough,” he called to Jack Howard, who was serving him that night. Cecily looked smug until he added, “I need to leave room for the roast swan I know we have been promised.” Jack bowed and removed his gold plate, and immediately a clean one was placed before him.

“Christ’s nails, Meggie, she still reduces me to a puling boy,” he murmured to Margaret on his other side. “Thank God she has found another calling in Berkhamsted.” He belched again, more subtlely this time, and asked how she was liking Coldharbour. He was carefully avoiding her mission. Besides, he had just noticed a pretty young thing who could not have been more than his daughter’s age talking to Anthony Woodville. “Ah, yes, Maria Fitzlewes, Bess’s new lady-in-waiting.”

Margaret sighed, despairing of him. “She is but a child, Ned. Be sensible.”

Later, when the tables had been cleared and the musicians had taken up their instruments at the far end of the hall, they were joined by Richard, who had headed up another table. He asked Edward permission to lead their sister out and begin the dancing for the evening. Edward, who found dancing difficult these days, waved his hand, happily passing off the duty to his little brother. For her part, Margaret was glad to stand up after hours of eating.

“I am no George, Meg,” Richard said with regret as they took their places for a
basse danse.
“You must miss him in the family gathering. I know I do.”

“And yet you did not come to his defense,” Margaret said more harshly than she intended. Certes, she missed George, and she had been dismayed that no one spoke of him except for one brief mention by Ned when she had first arrived. It was as if he had never existed.

She felt Richard tense. “I could not in all good conscience, Meg. He was a traitor to Ned, to our family, for all I loved him. Mother was the only one who tried, but even she gave up on him. But I do fear for Ned’s soul—to put one’s own brother to death …” He trailed off sadly. Margaret was keeping her eyes on the ground, as was the custom, but she was startled into looking up when Richard passed her to a new partner in the second part of the dance. Anthony took her hand, and they moved in unison down the brown and white marble floor.

“I fear we shall never finish our conversation,” Margaret told him, trying to concentrate on the steps and not on his fingers entwined in hers. “Edward has me kept me on my toes and in his presence constantly. I cannot return to Burgundy without knowing what is to become of us.” As all she could look at were his feet, she was pleased to see he did not affect the ridiculously long shoes favored by Guillaume. Rather, he wore soft boots with short cuffs that draped around his ankles.

“I return the prince to Ludlow on the morrow, Marguerite, but I have been given leave to see to my estates in September. Will you come to The Mote when your diplomatic mission is over? You must almost ride by Maidstone on your way back to the coast. I shall invite Edward as well. I have no doubt he will wish to accompany you as far as he can.”

Margaret lightly squeezed his hand, and he knew, as the music brought them to the final bow, that she would come to him in Kent.

I
N THE DAYS
following the banquet, Margaret kept in close proximity to her comfortable quarters at Coldharbour. She spent hours reading under a spreading chestnut or strolling through the herber, a straw hat protecting her face from the sun and her overdress tucked up in her belt while she deadheaded roses and gillyflowers with her small knife.

Beatrice and Henriette worried that their mistress was slipping into melancholy, but in fact Margaret delighted in the peacefulness of the time away from Edward’s council chamber and from her usual busy routine in Malines. It gave her an opportunity to savor the few days she had spent with her family before one by one they disappeared back to their own lives.

Richard left first, receiving word that another skirmish on the border with Scotland meant his presence was required there at once. He galloped off with his small entourage, his son proudly settled in the saddle before him, and waved his cap at Margaret, shouting “God speed.”

She had not been at the pier when the Prince of Wales and his governor were rowed away on the start of their long journey back to the Welsh border. She did not want to say good-bye to Anthony.

Parting with her mother was not as heart-wrenching this time, even though she and Cecily had formed a bond she had not experienced as a young princess at court. They spent several hours together discussing Margaret’s attempts to reform the permissive religious orders in Burgundy, and Cecily was pleased her daughter was involved with so many charitable works. “’Twill bring you to God and his Heaven in the end, Margaret. Your salvation is certain, and I will go to my grave knowing that at least one of my children has lived a virtuous life.”

Margaret had stabbed her finger with her needle at the remark and hoped Cecily’s eyes were sufficiently old and dim not to notice. She kept silent and let her mother speak her mind. She hoped Cecily could not read her mind or her heart.

A few days later, she thought the whole palace of Greenwich had heard the argument Cecily and Edward had about Mistress Shore.

“How dare you flaunt that harlot in front of me, and more to the point, in front of your wife, who is carrying your child. Have you no pride, no sense of decorum, no common sense at all? I am ashamed of you, Edward, and your Father would have surely horsewhipped you.”

From her room three doors away, Margaret heard Edward’s fist crash down on a table, and she wondered if he had broken it.

“Enough, Mother! I am no longer a child, and I will not be spoken to as though I were one. You are here as my guest, but unless you cease with your lectures, I will call for your carriage and ship you back to Berkhamsted without delay.” Then Margaret heard the door slam behind him.

Cecily had spent the rest of the day with her two daughters, her composure remarkable and her smile bright. But she left Greenwich the next day. Margaret chuckled as she remembered the scene, and she was glad there was no council meeting that day or she would have got nowhere with Edward.

She pondered how well her bargaining skills were advancing Maximilian’s cause. So far, Edward had not agreed to anything concrete. She had been dismayed to learn the nature of Jack Howard’s diplomatic mission to Louis. Edward was clearly loath to fall off the fence one way or the other. On the one hand, he wanted good relations with Burgundy. Burgundy had great economic value for England, and therefore keeping Burgundy strong against France was imperative. He was also well disposed to help Margaret reclaim her dower lands from Louis, she knew. But marriage of his daughter with the Dauphin and the continuing generous French pension was much too tempting to forego.

She was waiting with bated breath to see if Maximilian would accept Ned’s latest proposal that in exchange for six thousand archers and Edward’s support of Mary’s and Maximilian’s claims to territories seized by Louis, her stepson-in-law would agree to betroth little Philip to Anne of York. She was so certain her diplomacy would win Edward over that she had even commissioned a goldsmith in Cheapside to craft a ring with eight diamonds and a central rose of pearls for the princess. Now she had to wait for Maximilian’s answer.