Red Rose, White Rose (24 page)

I visualized the curious little boy I had encountered at Brancepeth all those years ago and realized with a jolt that he must be a man by now. ‘Harry’s sister to marry Jack Neville? Are you sure?’

‘No.’ Hal regarded me quizzically. ‘As I said, there is merely talk. Why, does it matter?’

I hesitated. Any mention of that branch of my family always stirred the murky waters of my memory. My bitter dispute with Richard still rankled and, unbidden, I had a sudden recall of Sir John’s very different attitude towards love and marriage. ‘I suppose not,’ I said, turning away to break off a corner from a manchet loaf in order to hide the tears that sprang to my eyes; a rush of yearning for a different life, a different love. But these were futile thoughts. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. ‘Do they still plague you, the Westmorland Nevilles?’

Hal gave a cynical laugh. ‘Plague is the right word. Their thugs descend without warning on any corner of my estates. They raid grain stores, rustle cattle, trample crops – anything to prevent my tenants leading a peaceful, profitable existence. And every time they attack they leave a proclamation nailed to a tree or a door denouncing my right to Middleham and Sheriff Hutton. I must tell you that I bitterly regret our mother signing Slingsby over to Sir Thomas Neville. Remember your wedding boon? It provided Westmorland’s two bandit brothers with a base right in the heart of my territory from which to orchestrate their campaign of attrition.’

‘Sir John Neville is involved?’ I hardly dared to ask the question lest I give myself away but the sudden urge for news of my erstwhile lover was irresistible.

‘Involved? He is the brains behind it all. His hothead nephew – Jack you called him? – is a wild young man but Sir John is the strategist who pulls his strings. And he keeps my lawyers permanently snarled up in litigation. He sues over everything from a lost cow to a park license. He even disputes my right to be Justice of the Forest beyond Trent, a hereditary post the king granted me four years ago. Sir John maintains that it should have gone to Westmorland as the senior earl. You can imagine what the king said to that.’

I gave a grunt of laughter and adopted a regal voice, grateful to lighten the tone. ‘
“I can grant whatever I like to whomever I like!”
Only I expect he put it more gracefully and in Latin.’ I laid a conciliatory hand on Hal’s tastefully dagged sleeve. ‘It is vexing though, is it not, this continuous battle over the inheritance? It casts a shadow over our father’s great achievements.’

He shrugged. ‘Yes, to a degree, but at least it gives the knights in my retinue something to do. Now that there is little fighting in France the young bloods need action elsewhere to test their mettle. When I leave here I have decided to take a force north into Scotland. The Scots have attacked Alnwick and they need to be taught a lesson. As usual I have had no directive from the council so I will be acting on my own initiative.’

I was shocked. ‘But that is anarchy surely? Does the king not punish such arbitrary action?’

Hal snorted derisively. ‘He does not notice it, Cicely. With his nose in his books and his attention focused on his college foundations, he is blind to what goes on. Henry should have been a monk rather than a king. I swear he sees more of his confessor than his queen. Even though she has beauty enough to dazzle any man, there is no sign of an heir and that is what England most needs.’

‘Richard says Queen Margaret is acquiring great power because of the king’s indifference to it.’

Hal scowled furiously. ‘That is true, much too much power – especially for a Frenchwoman. Sometimes I am sure she does not even consult the king before expressing what she calls his “will” to the council. We are not well served from the throne.’

His voice had dropped on this last remark and I caught my breath. I had never known my cautious brother to lower his guard enough to utter what, to all intent, amounted to treason. Hal was a staunch Lancastrian, just as our father had been, but it was clear he was rapidly losing faith in the present incumbents. ‘Why do you not voice your misgivings in the Royal Council, brother, instead of taking unilateral action?’ I asked.

He gave me an exasperated look. ‘Like Richard, I have no access to the council, Sister. Somerset and Suffolk have complete control and we are not invited to participate. So I simply do the job I was appointed to do, which is police the border with Scotland. If the borders of the kingdom are not defended, the king would have no kingdom to rule.’

‘Have you and Richard discussed this?’

‘Of course we have. While the king allows two rogue dukes to rule his roost, all we can do is bide our time and protect our own interests. That is why I remain up in the north and Richard will be sailing for Ireland.’ His gaze went to Harry, who was playing some strategy game with little balls of bread on the table cloth, seemingly lost in his own unfathomable world. ‘And he would do well to take his loose cannon of a son-in-law with him. The insurgencies of the wild Irish clans will give the lad some action on which to vent his very obvious frustrations.’

One of Harry’s bread balls rolled off the trestle and he dived beneath the cloth to retrieve it, emerging with a loud grunt and a sudden burst of scornful laughter. ‘Ha! Ha, ha ha!’ He pointed an accusing finger at Anne, who cowered back towards Edward. ‘Look at her – she is a fraud. She says she does not want to be Duchess of Exeter any more than I want her to be but she is already wearing my livery!’ He disappeared under the trestle once more and returned with one of Anne’s golden shoes in his fist. ‘Here, look! See the pattern?’ Harry waved the shoe under Anne’s nose, almost hitting her with it. ‘Those are wheatears, you ignorant cow! When I am duke every one of my retainers will wear the wheatear badge and people will tremble at the sight of them. The wheatear will trample the fields of York and burn the crops and I shall laugh as the flames rise.’

Anne flushed bright red and retaliated as only a furious eight-year-old girl could do, without thought for dignity or decorum. She jumped down from her seat, struggling to move the heavy throne-like chair and took Harry completely by surprise as she snatched the shoe from his hand and waved it in his face. ‘No!’ she shouted shrilly. ‘My lord father will not let you! You are horrible, Harry, horrible! And I hate you and your beastly wheatear!’ Swiftly she crouched down, pulled the other shoe off her foot and threw both of them, one after another, over the high-table where they tumbled down the dais steps. ‘Hateful, hideous shoes! I shall never wear them again.’

Coldharbour Inn, London
& Westminster Palace
Early October 1448

Cicely

H
arry started shouting the minute we rode into the great courtyard of Coldharbour Inn. Our baggage train had preceded us and our chamberlain had already allocated accommodation, allowing the servants to unload the carts so that all should be ready for our arrival.

‘I do not see why the snivelling sons of York should be housed in the apartments where I always stayed when my father was alive! Those chambers are meant for the Exeter heir. They are my rooms, not Edward’s or Edmund’s!’

‘You are housed with the rest of the young squires and henchmen in the south wing, Harry.’ Richard swung down from his horse and made a determined effort to remain even-tempered in the face of this outburst from his troublesome ward. ‘My sons are young and housed close to their parents, as is proper. Of course if you wish to share Edward and Edmund’s quarters, you are very welcome to do so but I am sure you will find the activities of the henchmen more to your taste than the lessons of two young boys struggling with Latin declensions and Greek poetry.’

‘Ugh!’ Harry shuddered. ‘The boys can learn Latin and Greek in any dark corner. Those are my chambers!’ He confronted the chamberlain belligerently and pointed at the tower which flanked one gable-end of the sprawling mansion, near to where the ducal apartments were located. ‘Have my baggage taken there.’

The chamberlain remained stony-faced and waited for his lord to make pronouncement.

‘No, they will remain in the south wing, Harry,’ said Richard mildly. ‘Where you choose to sleep is your affair; in the stable straw if you wish, but your belongings will be where the chamberlain has ordered, as will those of Edward and Edmund.’

All this took place before I had even dismounted and I watched as Harry stamped off in high dudgeon, leaving his horse untended. In due course a stable-lad would take care of it but I wondered what kind of disorganized household there would be at Coldharbour Inn when it reverted to Harry’s ownership. Once again I felt pity for Anne, who would be its chatelaine. Would she manage to introduce some sanity and order into their life? Personally, I would not be sad to seek alternative London accommodation for I found this inn draughty, damp and smelly; its walls seemed to suck up the stench of decay and detritus off the River Thames beside which it stood. Wearily I accepted the help of a groom to dismount from my palfrey. I was now over six months’ pregnant and resented Richard’s insistence that I make the four-day trip to London. He had been summoned back to court by the king to receive his official credentials as Royal Lieutenant of Ireland and wanted us to make it a family appearance. He did not say so but I presumed his aim was for the court and council to receive the full impact of the thriving York dynasty, compared with the barren marriage of the king and queen.

From Queen Margaret’s visit to Rouen on her way to take ship for England, I remembered a self-confident and darkly beautiful fourteen-year-old girl. I also recalled her unexpected concern for me, only a few weeks from the birth of Elizabeth, and the warmth I had felt towards her as a result. For these reasons, after two days to recover from our journey, I approached our visit to Westminster Palace with interest.

Fortunately, all the children were in good health and I looked on with pride as my two sons and three daughters lined up to make their entrance into the presence chamber. Edward and Edmund led the way, smartly dressed in new murrey-red doublets and blue hose, each with an enamelled white rose brooch pinned on his draped velvet hat. Edward seemed to have grown enormously in the last few months so that he now could have been taken for three years older than Edmund instead of just one. I knew I should be equally proud of all my children but on such an occasion I found my heart swelling just a fraction more at the sight of Edward, straight as a young birch, his grey eyes alight with the excitement of being at court, while his brother’s, speckled green like his father’s, darted about as he hunched his shoulders and fiddled nervously with his belt buckle. Behind them I had to admit that for once Anne looked quite calm, even motherly, in her dark-green velvet gown and jewelled girdle, clutching the hands of her two little sisters, four-year-old Elizabeth, fair and classically pretty in pale blue, and little Meg, auburn-haired and wearing bright green, at only two and a half already holding her chin high like a duchess.

‘We should be very proud of our family,’ Richard whispered in my ear as the doors opened to admit us. ‘The future of York is assured.’

I smiled, took a deep breath and threw back my shoulders, hoping he was right but not convinced that this display of York dynastic strength was a good idea. Following the usher, Edward stepped confidently into the room and the crowd of courtiers fell away to let our little procession through to where the king and queen sat on their crimson-canopied thrones, ermine-trimmed mantles draped carefully over the velvet-covered steps of their dais. Our boys moved to the right and the girls to the left and we all bent our knees as Richard kissed King Henry’s hand and then the queen’s. I was not surprised to find that Margaret of Anjou had matured into a strikingly handsome woman of eighteen. She still had her pretty marguerite emblem liberally embroidered on her gown but compared to the sweet, smiling girl I had liked so much, she now looked formidable, regarding us with hooded brown eyes, her lips forming a thin, straight line.

‘I am your graces’ loyal and obedient subject,’ Richard said in greeting, punctiliously keeping his head lower than theirs. ‘The Duchess of York and I beg permission to introduce our children: Edward, Earl of March, Edmund, Anne, Elizabeth and Margaret Plantagenet.’

King Henry nodded and smiled at each child individually and said, ‘You are welcome to our court – all of you – welcome indeed.’

Queen Margaret, however, now had her eyes fixed on Richard, or more particularly on his right knee which, although bent, was not actually in contact with the dais step. When she spoke it was in slightly accented English, sharp and clear and audible all around the room. ‘Your knee is not on the floor, my lord duke. Do you not kneel to your sovereign lord?’

I held my breath, heard the sudden murmur of voices behind me raised in comment and prayed that Richard would contain his temper. He did, although his knee seemed to take an age to touch the red velvet and he bowed his head further to hide the anger in his eyes. It was obvious that there was history behind this incident and I wondered what could have caused bad feeling between the queen and my husband.

‘That is better.’ Queen Margaret smiled, showing perfect teeth, brilliant white against the deep red of her lips and the smooth, olive sheen of her complexion; but the curve of her lips did not soften her gaze, which now travelled over the children. ‘You have a fine family, my lord, although some of them are perhaps a little young to bring to court; one of them I see is not yet even born.’ She stared at my obviously rounded belly and her smile vanished. ‘You have been busy since we last met, Duchess.’

On this occasion she made no effort to take me to a chair or even bid me to rise and I realized with a sinking heart that it had been a mistake to bring the children; so much fecundity displayed before a woman who had nothing to show for three and a half years of marriage had caused offence. I searched desperately for some safe response. Should I blandly agree that yes, I had been busy, or should I mention that I had waited for nine years to produce a son and heir?