Queen by Right (39 page)

“Many of us who are true believers have our faith tested, my lord,” Father Lessey had told Richard. “Your lady wife has been sorely tried, but she will feel God’s love again, I promise you.”

Richard had raised an eyebrow but had said nothing.

Turning now to lean over the side and watch the spray from the bow as it caught the sunlight, he hoped the resulting rainbows were promises of a brighter future with his complicated wife.

The fleet stretched out as far as the eye could see, cogs and caravels transporting not only the noblemen, their families, and their household trappings, but troops, horses, oxen, arms, armor, and cannon.

Richard prayed the news from Lord Talbot, known for his daring in the field, would be good upon their arrival at Harfleur, so that he could settle his family in Rouen before leading his new recruits to reinforce the shrinking English army attempting to rout the French around Paris. He had faith in the stalwart Talbot and intended to make him commander of the army as soon as he had landed and taken the reins of government in Normandy. Would he have to lead those new soldiers, or could he trust Woodville or his brother-in-law to march with them? There was always Oxford or Ormond, but Richard did not trust the latter. Besides, Bourchier had been named captain of Crotoy and would leave almost immediately to help hold that English stronghold on the coast.

His thoughts returned to Cecily. This was exactly the kind of conversation he missed having with her. At Fotheringhay he would throw another log on the fire after they had sent their attendants to bed and they would discuss what was happening with the king and council—Humphrey of Gloucester was losing his power, Cardinal Beaufort had somehow amassed a fortune and loans from him kept even the king afloat—or they would discuss plans for building at one of the York properties. How he loved those late-night talks. He wondered if she missed them too.

Later, as the sun set, Richard approached his wife where she stood on the quarterdeck, determined to try and regain those lost precious times.

“Cis, my mind is crowded with thoughts. If I cannot talk to you, I fear I shall burst. You used to understand my heart and mind. Would you listen to me again, my lady, if we walk together?”

“Certes, Richard,” Cecily replied in her new even tone, which told Richard nothing. “Rowena, Constance, you may leave us.”

But she had not turned him away, and so he plunged forward. “In truth, I am content to return to France as its governor,” he began, after putting his short mantle around her shoulders and linking their arms. “But I worry what happens at home behind my back. Now we are away from shore and only the wind can hear me, I am humbly bound to say the king is not fit to govern by himself, and although Gloucester has his nephew’s best interests at heart, no one takes him seriously now, despite the fact he is still heir apparent to the throne. I am thankful I am not an ambitious man or I would have deadly enemies in Suffolk and the Beauforts, but ’tis hard for me to stand by and see those men manipulate Henry so cleverly.” He shook his head. “Even your Uncle Beaufort was of less concern in his heyday than these new men.”

“But you do have ambition, my lord,” Cecily began. “We have talked of your dreams of being a fine soldier and commander, and here you are achieving that goal. But unlike many who surround the king, you also have honor. Soldiering aside, however, I understand you speak now of an ambition concerning your place beside Henry, which I encouraged you to seek but without much success. I had hoped by now you would have achieved an eminent position at court.”

Richard was taken aback. “Are you truly so ambitious for me, Cis?”

“’Tis a wife’s duty to support her husband, I believe, and wanting him to be the best he can be is part of what a good wife does. If that means I am ambitious, then aye, I suppose I am.” She was warming to her subject now, and seeing no argument from Richard, she dared to go further. “Let me remind you that you have the rank and the demonstrated loyalty to influence the king just as much as my Beaufort cousins, and yet they stand closer than you do. Suffolk is unknown to me, except that he is now steward of England, but who is he to wield so much influence? I am certain there are those besides me who wonder why the duke of York is not on the council and making policy.”

Richard was not expecting such a well-thought-out answer, and he would have been dismayed to know how openly his astonishment registered on his face.

“Well, why?” Cecily repeated, managing to keep her tone serious. “I trust I am not the only person to see your worth. Certes, ’tis flattering to be governor of France, Richard, but it has occurred to me that perhaps Suffolk and his ilk might feel more secure with you out of the country.”

Richard took her hands in his and caressed them with his thumbs. “By Christ’s nails, Cecily, you are not simply a pretty face, are you?” he said, teasing her. “Do you think I have not had the same thought?” he added more seriously.

Cecily turned steadfast eyes to his. “Then let us work together to achieve your position in the king’s circle, if it is your wish—your ambition.”

“My ambition? Much of it is buried in shame for my father’s treason. It weighs on me that others might look at me and believe that the sins of the father . . .”

He tailed off upon hearing Cecily’s muttered “Pish!” She went on, “Richard, you have more than atoned for your father’s folly. No king could know a more loyal subject. As a wife, I can only hope for you what should be
yours by right
. And a strong voice at the king’s right hand should be rightfully yours by now. As a woman—albeit one with a pretty face,” she teased him back, “I may only encourage, suggest—” She broke off, frowning. “Oh, if only I were a man.”

Richard guffawed. “’Tis certain there are many in the king’s service—if not the king himself—who are justly relieved you are not a man, my love. The crown itself would not be safe!” He took advantage of her smile and kissed her. “Come, my lady, let us talk no more about my ambitions. My only wish in the last weeks is to console you and make you happy. Am I succeeding?”

Cecily had the grace to look shamefaced. “Aye, my lord. But I believe ’tis also because I am grieving less, thanks be to the Blessed Mother.”

“Ah,” Richard said, eyes twinkling. “Then you are talking to her again?”

“What can you mean?” she protested. “I have always enjoyed the Virgin’s protection. And I pray do not change the subject. My faith is my own concern.”

Richard patted her hand and murmured, “Then I shall not speak of it again, my love. Ah, look, your friend Jacquetta and her knight approach.”

All parties reverenced each other and passed a few minutes talking of the weather and complaining of the deprivations of life aboard a creaking caravel. Sir Richard’s demeanor was deferential to both the duke and the duchess, and he kissed Cecily’s hand warmly when they parted. But Jacquetta was quiet, content to let her husband talk while she inspected Cecily surreptitiously from beneath her voluminous hood.

If she thinks I did not notice I was being scrutinized, then she is more
addle-pated than I thought, Cecily mused as she allowed Richard to take her below to an unappetizing supper of salted herring and stale bread. She groaned inwardly, knowing that once at Rouen there would be nowhere to hide from the woman.

T
HE NEWS AWAITING
Richard at Harfleur was encouraging. The brilliant English commander, Lord Talbot, was gaining ground in his attempt to relieve besieged Pontoise. He suggested that as soon as Richard could take the reins in Rouen, he should join Talbot in a push to drive King Charles back to the Seine.

“I am sorry, Cis,” he said, as they were taking refreshment in Harfleur’s small castle, “but you will not have me for long once we reach Rouen. Talbot believes that with these new recruits we can gain the ground lost around Paris. I trust you to establish our household in my absence. I pray the king’s council will be prompt with my payments this time. Unhappy men do not make for a dedicated army.”

And so, as Richard rode out of Harfleur on the Rouen road ahead of his troops, the barges carrying Cecily, the other noblewomen, and their entourages pushed off from the jetty and turned east on the Seine toward Rouen.

Richard had introduced his wife to a giant of a man called John Blaybourne, captain of a company of archers mustered from the north of England and now in charge of the other men-at-arms for the journey to Rouen. A six-foot-high longbow, which dwarfed most archers, was shorter than Blaybourne and “one of his hands could crush a man’s skull,” Cecily remarked to Richard following the meeting. But he was gentle of speech and handsome in a way that put Cecily in mind of a Norseman she had seen in Durham once. Aye, he would serve as a fine protector, she told Richard, “as long as Master Taggett does not protest. He will not like being supplanted, in truth.”

Cecily’s instinct had been right, and a downturned mouth was the result of her gentle dismissal of Piers as her special escort for the rest of the journey. “Master Blaybourne will eventually join the army, Piers, and then you may resume your duty to me. But for now your duty is to the hawks under your care. You must not neglect them, you understand.” His obvious disappointment had touched her, but she dismissed him firmly.

The sixty-mile journey up the river to Rouen was marred by several downpours on two of the days, the rain soaking through the canopies and onto the occupants of the large barge, which was sometimes rowed and sometimes
pulled along by huge dray horses walking on the tow path. Cecily felt sorry for Richard and his soldiers marching to Rouen, who would spend many a night on soggy ground, whereas the women would be accommodated in abbeys, such as the majestic Jumièges, or at inns along the north bank.

As the barge wended its way to Rouen, Cecily tried to focus on the high chalk cliffs rising on the south bank of the wide river and the rolling Pays de Caux countryside on the other, but in truth she was dreading revisiting that city, which housed memories of the horror of Jeanne’s execution and the heartache of her miscarriage. She had hoped never to set foot in the town again, and yet here she was facing five more years of her life there. And so, on the day of celebration for the nativity of John the Baptist, when the many-towered city walls hove into view, she gritted her teeth and took deep calming breaths. Shining in the sun, the bleached walls were at their least threatening, and as she watched the others in her household pointing and smiling in excited anticipation, she determined to throw off her depression and embrace this new chapter in her life.

The ducal barge edged its way to the bustling wharf, where the travel-weary duchess and her party made their final landing. The other vessels docked soon after. Just inside the city gate, a large crowd of cheering spectators had gathered. Cecily knew they must mostly be English. She well remembered the sullen French townsfolk of her last visit.

Cecily declined the waiting litters. “We have sat long enough, do you not think, ladies? The sun is shining at the moment, and so let us proceed on foot.” She saw Jacquetta Woodville scowl, but Cecily quickly averted her eyes and waited for the pikemen to form an escort. Lazy woman, she thought, as she watched John Blaybourne marshal his fellow guards into two ranks. She smiled, remembering how easily the man had lifted her off the barge and onto shore one day so that the ladies could stretch their legs and allow the children to run around. He had made her feel like a dainty child, and she had laughed merrily when he told her that she weighed less than thistledown to him. At that moment her melancholy had begun to lift, and the duchess’s companions were relieved to hear her laugh once more.

Now Master Blaybourne gave her a shy grin and a quick bow before standing to attention, indicating the escort was ready. As she made her way to the soldiers, Cecily was blissfully unaware that a pair of yellow-green eyes had caught the little exchange between her and the burly captain of her guard.

“I would prefer to avoid the marketplace, if you please, Master Blaybourne,”
Cecily directed him. She did not yet want to be reminded of that day in May when the world went black for her. “I remember ’twas always so crowded,” she began, but her lame excuse was cut off by the timely carillon that rang out from the great gothic belfry nearby.

They had gone but a few paces when the sound of hooves attracted everyone’s attention. Falling back, the spectators allowed three horsemen to canter through their midst. The leading rider leaped from his saddle and swept his murrey and blue bonnet off his head, making Cecily a graceful bow.

“Your grace!” Cecily cried upon recognizing Richard, genuine pleasure in her voice. “I did not expect you so soon. I am delighted to see you.”

Her reception was exactly what the weary Richard had dreamed of. He had ridden ahead of his men, leaving Oxford to command them for the last two days, and hoped he would be in time to meet the barge. It seemed his efforts had paid off, and with Cecily’s delight at seeing him, the heaviness in his heart eased. He was sorely tempted to sweep her off her feet and carry her to Bouvreuil, but he had no intention of scandalizing his new subjects before he even had time to meet them. Instead he let his lips linger on her hand as he kissed it. I hope I am forgiven, his eyes tried to say as he looked up at her, turning her ruby betrothal ring under his fingers.

“Aye, my lord,” Cecily answered the unspoken question, feeling her heart lift. “I believe you are. ’Twas as much my fault as yours.”

C
ECILY STOOD BY
the deep window embrasure in the large room that she and Richard had chosen as their solar and watched her husband inspect the armorer’s work on his gleaming bascinet. One of the hinges had been bent during the sea voyage. He had his squire fit it over his head and worked the snout of the visor open and shut, grunting in satisfaction.

“Tell Master Dawes ’tis well done, Roger,” he instructed the young man, “and I pray you put it with the rest of my arms. We ride on the morrow.”

Roger bowed out of the room, and Richard turned to Cecily. “Forgive the hasty departure, Cis, but I did warn you,” he said, putting his arm about her. He hoped that he might share her bed on this last night, but he would not rush her.