Red Rose, White Rose (15 page)

‘There is no trade with the Low Countries now, not since the Duke of Burgundy broke the alliance with England,’ I replied, watching her shift her weight in her sideways saddle and tuck a stray strand of silvery temple-hair back under the scarf of her blue chaperon. ‘So the weavers must bleach all their own cloth.’

‘Well it is heartening to see the land put to some use,’ she said. ‘Even a wilderness of white linen is better than thistles and weeds, though it will not feed the people.’

‘The duke has ruled that the weavers’ guild should set up feeding stations for the poor and dispossessed. He has even endowed them generously himself,’ I told her. ‘There is less unrest in the city since he took up his post.’

She pursed her lips. ‘I am glad to hear it. At least he puts his riches to good use.’

I made no comment. Richard of York was, as everyone knew, the richest man in the two kingdoms and there was much barely concealed envy among those of the landed nobility who were not so well endowed. Although the Earl of Stafford was almost as wealthy, it seemed that even his countess was not averse to passing the odd mildly caustic remark.

Our conversation was forced to cease because we had reached the city gate and became caught up in the crowds queuing to press through the narrow tunnel beneath the battered barbican. Encouraged by our trumpeters’ noisy blasts they shifted reluctantly to let us pass but our royal banners and white rose badges were not greeted with any enthusiasm by the sour-faced citizens of Normandy. Indeed, despite the fact that many of their leaders now apparently worked willingly alongside their English conquerors, the common people of Rouen still tended the graves of their siege-starved forebears and went about their daily tasks in silent resentment, taking the money their goods could earn but hating the hands they took it from. It was pointless to tell these stiff-necked Frenchmen that the men they called ‘conquerors’ were Normans like themselves, back in their own duchy two hundred years after the French had stolen it from them. In their eyes the invaders were ‘
cochons Anglais’,
English pigs, who hid tails under their doublets and murdered their kings. Rouen may be peaceful but it was not content.

I led the troop across the busy market square towards the castle where extensive patches of new stonework indicated the level of damage the siege artillery had inflicted. It was a sprawling warren of towers and courtyards centered on an imposing buttressed hall with a steep sloping roof of green slates which housed the law courts and meetings of the Normandy Estates. It was the seat of English government and therefore the official residence of the Duke of York. I was pleased to see the lily and lion standard flying from the hall tower, indicating that the Royal Council was in session. The duke would be entertaining his fellow councillors and my rumbling stomach welcomed the fact that there would be plentiful feasting at dusk.

Elbowing a squire out of the way, I made a point of assisting Lady Anne to dismount myself. She smiled as I set her lightly down on the cobblestones of the central courtyard. ‘Thank you, Sir Cuthbert, although after all the hours we have spent and alarms we have experienced together I think I may truly call you brother. I envy Cicely her good fortune in having you to rely on.’

I returned her smile and added an admiring bow. ‘I am honoured to be related to two such great ladies but I will not yet say farewell. Cicely instructed me to deliver you to her side and that is exactly what I shall do. Her chamberlain will show your female companion to your lodging where your baggage will be sent and, with your permission, I will personally escort you directly to the privy apartments.’

The splendid civic clock, recently installed in the marketplace, was sounding four when, having adjourned his council meeting, Richard, Duke of York, surrounded by his entourage, came striding out of the great hall and intercepted us at the foot of the grand stairway which led up to the ducal lodging. ‘My lady of Stafford, good sister, you are safely arrived! May God be thanked,’ he said enthusiastically, bending over the countess’s hand. ‘How kind it is of you to make such an arduous journey to support Cicely at this crucial time. She will be overjoyed to see you.’

‘It was not so arduous with Sir Cuthbert beside me,’ responded the countess. ‘He is the kind of companion who clears the road and lightens the load, to say nothing of seeing off bandits with a flick of his sword. I have never felt safer outside the walls of Calais.’

The duke raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Praise indeed, Cuthbert! I can see Cicely chose the right escort for her sister.’

I grinned back at him. ‘Allow me to tell you, brother, that whenever swords were out, Lady Anne was doing her fair share by a masterly use of the small blade. I cannot believe it was not I who trained her.’

Anne laughed and bent swiftly to demonstrate her sleight of hand with the poignard. It appeared in her hand without a visible movement of her skirt and Richard took an involuntary step back, as surprised as I had been the first time I saw her do it. ‘I pride myself on giving no quarter,’ she said proudly. ‘It has proved useful in the past but on this journey I drew the blade for show only, I was protected from all danger.’ With equal skill she re-sheathed the knife and took the duke’s proffered arm. ‘But tell me, Richard, how is my sister? I am sorry I was unable to attend her previous lying-ins. Has she recovered from her grave disappointment …?’

They began to climb the stair together and I followed a step behind. The rest of the entourage had dropped well back. ‘In truth I think she has not,’ the duke replied. ‘She tries to hide it from me but there is her lassitude, I have never seen that in her before, and she spends much time with our confessor. I know Cicely is deeply melancholy. But I cannot discover if there is a reason, other than the death of our son, of course. Perhaps you might have more success.’

‘Is not the death of a longed-for son enough reason to be melancholy?’ demanded Anne. ‘It is only a year ago. And before that our mother died. Cicely was closer to her than any of us. Perhaps she has not recovered from either death and now she must face another birth and with it the possibility of another death. It is not easy, my lord. You must be patient.’

Richard frowned, his head uncharacteristically lowered. ‘I hope she does not find me impatient. I never blamed her for the death of Henry. I, too, was devastated, but it was God’s will.’

The countess patted his arm. ‘These things happen, but you are both young. There is plenty of time. I will try and cheer her up. Does she have any other ladies to help her? When will she take to her chamber?’

‘Next week. There is to be a service in the cathedral and then she will retire.’

‘So the babe will be born in May then?’

‘Do not ask me! That is women’s talk. Perhaps tonight will cheer us all. We have a banquet and entertainment planned for the members of the council and their wives. I am sorry your lord could not attend but I hear the pirates in the Straits of Dover have been trounced. Two ships captured and ten scoundrels hanged. It was worth him missing the meeting.’

‘He will think so,’ said Anne grimly. ‘It is hoped their confederates might be deterred, for the present.’

When we reached the arched doorway that led to the great solar the guards threw back the double doors. Servants and chamberlains waiting in the ante-chamber scrambled to their feet as we entered. One of the chamberlains bowed and knocked on a door with his staff for entrance to the solar. The door was opened from within.

The young ladies stood and curtsied but Cicely remained reclined on a cushioned couch, one hand on her swollen belly, the other extended in welcome. ‘My dearest lord, you are finished early in council. And Cuthbert and my sister are here at last! You are so very welcome, Anne.’

The two women embraced warmly, seats were brought and the young lady companions trooped from the chamber in response to Cicely’s wave of dismissal. I stood to one side and studied my pregnant sister’s face. It looked puffy and her belly seemed to pin her down like a barrel. Sensing my gaze, she turned and I caught a glimpse of the old Cicely in the smile she gave me.

‘Thank you, Cuthbert, for bringing Anne to me. I have been counting the hours.’ She turned back to the countess. ‘You are so good to come – and through such hostile territory, too. Did you have any trouble?’

Lady Anne brushed the enquiry aside. ‘Never mind all that. How are you, Cicely? You look very pale.’

Although they both now lived in France, to my knowledge the two sisters had not seen each other since their mother’s funeral nearly two years before, when the whole Neville clan had suspended hostilities to gather at Raby castle. The cortège journeyed from there down to Lincoln where Lady Joan was to be buried in the cathedral beside her beloved mother Katherine, Duchess of Lancaster. Being great with her second child, Cicely had opted not to follow; instead her own procession, and I with it, embarked on a cautious fifteen-miles-a-day progress south to Fotheringhay Castle. Riding beside her cushioned litter, I had listened to her sustained sobbing.

‘I should not have endangered my baby by travelling to Raby, but how could I not attend my mother’s funeral?’ she had cried in despair during one unscheduled stop at a crowded roadside inn when she had complained of dizziness and agonizing cramps. ‘I do not have good feelings about this baby, Cuthbert.’

Those fears had proved well founded. Her little boy, baptized Henry after the king, had died a week after his birth in early February. It seemed to me that she had not regained any of her spirit since.

In response to Lady Anne’s enquiry, Cicely’s brow furrowed. ‘Is there any wonder I look pale? It has done nothing but rain lately, I have barely left these apartments for weeks, and Richard has been absent during all of Lent inspecting the border garrisons.’ She glanced at the duke enquiringly. ‘Did the council agree your plans for strengthening them, my lord?’

Richard of York was rarely defeated in council: he was a man in his prime, thirty years old and toned in body and mind. It seemed that today had been no exception, the ruling Normandy barons and captains of the council had agreed. ‘And wisely so,’ remarked Richard, ‘for they knew I would deploy reinforcements anyway, whether funds are forthcoming from the royal exchequer or not.’

‘Has there been any word from the king?’ Cicely’s question was laced with concern, as well it might be, I thought. While the duke ruled his own council with a rod of iron, he was constantly frustrated in his attempts to garner financial support from the king’s council in England.

His face clouded but an initial scowl was hastily replaced by a look of resignation. Richard did not like to be seen to lose his temper. ‘The king sends copious letters but no gold. As usual it is all promises with Henry but no delivery. No matter, ’twas ever thus, as you know, sweetheart. Humphrey suffers from this as well, does he not, Anne?’

Lady Anne hesitated for a split second before replying. ‘Reinforcements were sent to Calais in order to tackle the pirates but no funds to pay them,’ she admitted. ‘My lord was obliged to open his own purse, and it was an expensive campaign, but well worth it.’

‘No doubt of that.’ Richard nodded. ‘But like Humphrey, I find defending Normandy a constant drain on my own exchequer, when it should be royally funded. I hold the Earl of Somerset responsible. I suspect that the king wishes to compensate Somerset for the thirteen years he spent as a French prisoner and all available funds are being diverted to his campaign in Aquitaine. I confess I look forward to discussing ways to tackle this situation when Humphrey manages to get here.’

‘But meanwhile we neglect our duty as hosts, my lord,’ Cicely said reproachfully. ‘My dear sister has not come to Rouen to talk tactics and finance. Cuthbert, since I have sent my chamberlains away would you be kind enough to pour some wine and serve the wafers? We dine at sunset but you must both be hungry and thirsty and I am sure my lord is too, after all that talking in council.’

I had been eyeing the platter of delicious-looking cakes laid out on the buffet and so I was more than willing to oblige. Lady Anne partook readily before remarking, ‘Cicely is right, my lord duke, I have not come here to discuss our mutual grievances with King Henry. I have come to help her bring a strong child into the world.’

‘A strong
boy
-child,’ emphasized Richard, carefully wiping crumbs from his fingers with a kerchief. ‘And I hope you can allay your sister’s fears about his chances of survival, my lady. I see no reason why God should deny us a healthy son when we have founded churches, endowed chantries, supported monasteries and furnished chapels to His glory, all in the hope and expectation of His mercy. Cicely must have faith.’

Cicely smiled wearily at her sister. ‘Richard and I do not agree on this, Anne. I cannot believe that faith is some divine business arrangement, where we have merely to purchase enough indulgences or endow the right shrine to sway the celestial scales in our favour. God deals with us as He sees fit and since I have not produced an heir in eight years of marriage it is obvious that I must have grievously offended the Almighty. I pray constantly that He will reveal to me how I should atone for my sins so that my lord may be granted the son he so richly deserves.’

For the duration of this confession Lady Anne was shaking her head. ‘No, Cicely, that cannot be right. You have a healthy daughter – my namesake Anne, who I hope to see very soon – and there is no reason why you should not have a healthy son. Besides, if children were only granted to those without sin then there would be no bastards born since they are, by definition, conceived in sin. Sin is no barrier to bringing new life. We have our magnificent brother Cuthbert here to prove it.’

Although her comment was made with an apologetic smile in my direction, I could have wished the countess had used another example for her sister’s encouragement. I had not found bastardy an easy burden to bear and her remark, though kindly meant, brought back memories still painful to me of events at Cicely’s mother’s funeral. An encounter redolent with ugly prejudice and a woeful misuse of seigniorial power that would live with me for ever …