Queen by Right (17 page)

Cecily stood up and faced her mother. “I remember she was kind to me. I feel sorry for her. She was so young when King Henry died, and then she was sent from her little son’s court. She must have been very unhappy, and I am glad she has someone to love her.”

The ladies sat stock-still and watched Joan’s face harden. “It is not our place
to love wherever we will, Daughter, and we in turn cannot expect to know romantic love. All of us are bound to do our duty according to our family’s wishes. You find respect and love when you find a husband. Anything else is harlotry. Any more talk like that, young lady, and we shall remove you from court and keep you close until York comes calling for you.”

Cecily’s face fell at such a public upbraiding, and tears were close. But heeding the lesson to show no emotion, she curtsied to the countess, murmured an apology, and fled from the room as the bell rang for dinner. She flung herself on her bed and pounded the pillow with her fists. I hate being a woman, she thought vehemently. No one thinks ill of a man who takes his pleasure where he may. How dreadful to fall in love with someone you should not be with, she mused, turning over and lying on her back, imagining the queen with her servant-lover. As it often did, her daydreaming returned to Richard and what it might be like to have him touch her.

“Lady Cecily.” Rowena’s voice pierced her thoughts and she sat up with a guilty start. “You must ready yourself for dinner. The bell has sounded, and your lady mother will be angry with you again.”

“Oh, Rowena! I pray you make my excuses. Say I have a headache, I beg of you. I cannot face my mother and her ladies now.” She lay down on the feather bed and stared at the canopy above her. “Please go quickly and, if you can, bring us some food for, in truth, I am ravenous.”

Rowena returned as quickly as she could after informing the countess of Cecily’s headache, and then slipped down the great hall staircase to the kitchens below and wheedled food from a grumpy cook. The two young women set about devouring half a fish pie, two custards, some roasted rabbit, and a bowl of dried plums and nuts.

Cecily looked at Rowena curiously as the older girl bit into a filbert. “Why are you not married, Rowena? You are eighteen now, are you not?”

A sudden sadness suffused Rowena’s broad face: “My father is unwell, my lady. He must first find good positions for my younger brothers, and as I am the last of three girls, I am less important. He was pleased when your lady mother took me in to attend you.” She sighed. “I shall probably end up an old maid.”

“Nonsense!” Cecily cried, moved by Rowena’s plight. “I shall set about finding you a husband, never you fear.” She chewed her bottom lip, a childhood habit that helped her think.

Rowena dropped a little curtsey. “You must not bother yourself on my account. I am perfectly content here with you. Look at how I am living,” she
said, spreading her arms and taking in the elegant tester bed with its heavy tapestried curtains, rich turkey carpets on the polished tiled floor, two huge chests, a finely carved high-back chair, and a small cushioned settle all gracing the large room.

Cecily wandered to the window, its horn panes almost transparent but not clear enough to give anything but a blurred impression of the crenellated roof of St. George’s Hall on the other side of the small courtyard, where the king’s household would be at table. Why am I fretting about Rowena’s lack of a husband when my own betrothed has not even written to me for two months? She grimaced. ’Tis certain he has forgotten me, she thought, then immediately felt guilt for her unkindness, for word had come to the council that the English army was plagued by sickness and deserters and was sadly depleted, allowing new French soldiers and supplies to sneak into Orléans. But this news had not concerned Cecily. Perhaps Richard, God forbid, had been wounded or even worse, but Joan had assured her daughter that if such a noble as York had been killed, the king would have been apprised. But Cecily fretted. He could still be too ill to write.

Cecily sighed. Dear Mother of God, do not desert me now, she begged silently. I promise I have discouraged all those other young men and kept myself for Richard.

So deeply was she in thought on the window seat, watching a flock of starlings lift from the great hall roof, that she did not hear a knock on the door and turned only when a man’s voice softly spoke her name.

“God’s greeting, Cecily. I trust I find you well.”

Leaping down from her perch, she squealed with joy and flung herself into Richard’s arms. Rowena had taken up a discreet post by the door and watched the happy reunion with pleasure. Richard was unprepared for such a reception and, as gently as he could, extricated himself from his betrothed’s embrace, using his left hand to protect his right bicep.

“Sweet Jesu, but you are grown even lovelier,” he murmured, scrutinizing her for many seconds with his gray gaze. “Do I gather from your welcome that you are glad to see me, Cis? I feared a rebuke for my dismal lack of correspondence, but I do have an excuse.” He tapped his arm gently.

“Oh, you are hurt, dearest Dickon. Forgive me. Were you wounded?” She hung her head. “I was just thinking how cross I am with you because you had not written. But be sure I am glad to see you. Is the siege over? Why are you here? Tell me what happened to your arm.”

Richard had forgotten Cecily was capable of so many questions at once and chuckled. “An arrow found me as I hurried back to my tent one day with only my breastplate and helmet on.” He fingered his arm gingerly. “’Twas my own fault, I confess, and I cursed my bad luck, and although the wound is healing, my lord of Suffolk decided I was of more use to him as an envoy and sent me home.” His derisive inflection of the word
envoy
told Cecily that he felt himself demoted. “I had been giving the council the latest news until dinner was announced. When I did not see you in the hall, I came to find you. Are you unwell? Your mother’s attendant mentioned a headache.”

“Pish! I do not have a headache. Mother and I quarreled, ’tis all, and I did not feel like getting another homily at dinner.” She hung her head sheepishly. “I fear I am still not the lady Mother would wish for. But no matter, tell me your news. Is the siege over? Did those Frenchmen surrender?”

Richard went quiet. He had been sequestered with the council for more than an hour, recounting the sorry story of the siege and answering endless questions. He was tired of the subject, but Cecily deserved a response to her eagerness to know the outcome of the siege, and he could spare her the details. Besides, he wanted time to drink in the beauty of her. Twisting the large signet ring on his first finger, he took a deep breath and began.

“You may be surprised to know that the French themselves raised the siege, Cis.” He smiled at her slack-jawed face. “Aye, ’tis hard to conceive. They must have been starving in the city after the long winter. But in truth, something happened that will puzzle Englishmen for years to come, and only we who witnessed it could believe it.” He shook his head and crossed himself.

Cecily held her breath for a second before blurting out, “What? What happened?”

“On the twenty-fifth of last month, Duke Philip ordered his men to leave Orléans, and that left only the English surrounding the city, our numbers much cut by sickness, death, and desertions. We were daily expecting the white flag of surrender—surely they could not hold out any longer. Four days later, we did see a white flag, but it was decorated with a portrait of Jesus and two angels and was carried by a youthful French soldier who seemed to have God on her side.”

“
Her
side? You mean his side, my dear Dickon,” Cecily teased.

But Richard was not joking. “Nay, I mean
her
,” he said firmly. “Her name was Jeanne—Jeanne d’Arc,” he told a now-rapt Cecily. “We heard that she had traveled from her village in eastern France at the command of heavenly
voices to seek the Dauphin Charles and affirm that he was indeed the true French king.” Cecily stared openmouthed and fascinated as Richard quietly continued: “It is said she journeyed to Chinon, where the dauphin was awaiting the fate of Orléans—and indeed of France. It seems that Charles’s father, our king’s grandfather, had so many bouts of insanity that people believed he could not have sired this young dauphin. Charles should have been proclaimed king as successor to his father, but he has never been crowned because the people believe he is a bastard. Anyway, we heard this Jeanne—she is naught but a peasant’s daughter, mind you, and only seventeen—was able to have an audience with the dauphin—I mean king.”

“Seventeen?” Cecily’s imagination was afire. She is but three years older than I, she surmised, a mere peasant girl, and she leads an army? “How can this be, Dickon?”

“I swear I am telling the truth,” Richard replied. “Do you want to hear more or not?”

Cecily nodded. “Forgive me, I am dumbfounded, ’tis all. But I wish you would hurry up and tell me how she became a soldier—you mean in armor and carrying a sword?”

Richard nodded. “Just so—and she was not afraid to wield it. I have not told you the most important part of the story, but if you would stop interrupting, I will.”

Cecily glared at him. Gripping her hands together in her lap, she sat silent.

“That’s better,” he said, though it was all he could do not to laugh. “It is said Jeanne has been hearing heavenly voices—St. Michael, St. Catherine and St. Margaret, they say—telling her to find the dauphin and announce to the court that he is indeed his father’s son and has every right to wear the crown.” He paused. “To test her powers, Charles stood among his nobles to see if she would know him, a man she had never seen before.”

“Sweet Jesu, she must have been brave,” Cecily breathed, admiring the intrepid Jeanne more by the second. “And did she know him?”

“Without faltering, so we were told. She then asked to be allowed to join the army, which is what her voices told her she should do, and help free Orléans. It is hard to believe, but after the priests were satisfied that she was not a witch—and it was confirmed she was still a virgin—she was allowed to arm and go to the Orléanists’ aid.”

“Did you see her?” Cecily whispered, fascinated. She fancied she could see this maid upon a white horse, carrying the banner of Christ, her armor
shining, her hair streaming out behind her, and a bright halo about her head. How I should love to have seen her, she thought enviously. Nay, how I would like to
be
her.

“Aye, Cis, I did see her. From afar, you understand, and not long afterward I was wounded and taken to the surgeon’s tent. The common soldiers said they saw a light shine from her as she rallied the French during a sortie from the city, but we captains knew it for mere fanciful thinking. Our troops were on the verge of crushing the enemy when she raised her banner, and all those Frenchmen who were starving and weary were miraculously revived and fought like crusaders again. It was too much for us, and we lost fortress after fortress as well as our nerve. It did seem to us that perhaps she had God on her side.”

Both sat in silence for a spell, each with their own vision of Jeanne d’Arc.

“So, Orléans has fallen,” Cecily murmured at last. “Whatever next?”

Richard shrugged. “I left to bring the news, but I fear for our other garrisons along the Loire.”

But Cecily’s mind was still on Jeanne. “Even though I have no wish to go off and fight, I should dearly love to see myself in armor upon a caparisoned courser.”

“Cecily!” Richard expostulated, rising. “’Tis unnatural, and many were shocked that she would dress as a man. As my wife . . .” He stopped, not needing to remind her of her father’s long-ago flouting of the Scriptures.

Cecily lifted her chin defiantly and looked him squarely in the eye, unaware how desirable her indignation made her. “But I am
not
your wife, am I? I have waited and waited . . .”

Richard could not resist her. He pulled her to her feet with his one good arm and slowly and deliberately kissed her full on the mouth, tasting a hint of honey. He felt her breasts against him and realized with a jolt that she was indeed no longer a child.

Cecily was so taken off-guard that she was unable to savor the moment she had fantasized so often in her waking dreams. He let her go as quickly as he had taken her, which was just as well. Joan’s voice floated to them from the corridor, and they jumped apart before she swept in.

“Ah, York, I see you have found the truant,” she said, eyeing Cecily’s flushed face with more than a hint of understanding. “I think it is best you do not stay to hear what I have to say to her.
A tout à l’heure, monseigneur.”
She put out her hand for Richard to kiss and watched him scurry through the doorway, a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“Now, Daughter, what is all this about a headache?” she said, arranging her black skirts around her as she settled into the high-backed chair. “You seemed perfectly fine when you left my chamber in a huff before dinner and you seem perfectly fine now. Well?”

T
HE STORY OF
the maid of Orléans preoccupied everyone for many days after Richard’s return. Indeed, the court spent much of the month of June hearing about Jeanne d’Arc’s military successes and inspirational effect on her countrymen. Cecily could not hear enough about her, and each reimagining of Jeanne’s courage and faith intoxicated her further.

Only a year before, the English had dominated most of northern France down to the northern banks of the Loire. Philip, duke of Burgundy, controlled not only his duchy of Burgundy but also all the territories in the northeast as far north as Holland. Philip’s alliance with England was hanging in the balance following his standoff at Orléans, but neither party wanted to cede any territory to the French crown. At least they were united in that goal. Humiliating though it was, Charles and his Armagnac party hung on in what was left of his lands from south of the Loire to the Mediterranean. Only after Jeanne affirmed his legitimacy in the eyes of God and prophesied that she would see him crowned and France rid of its enemies did this uninspiring prince find a modicum of courage. Jeanne went from strength to strength after Orléans, finally defeating the English on the Loire at Patay. And in another humiliating defeat, Lord Talbot, one of England’s foremost commanders, was taken prisoner. The future of Henry’s holdings in France looked black indeed.