Red Rose, White Rose (26 page)
The whole York family travelled to the Welsh border and I am sure Cicely yearned to remain with the boys at Ludlow but she and her daughters were to travel with Richard to the west coast of Wales to take ship to Ireland. Leaving her sons, especially Edward, caused her immense distress and the tedious journey cannot have done anything to raise her spirits, for although it was June the mountains of Gwynedd and the steep valleys around the high peak which the Welsh called the Great Throne were shrouded in mist. Nor did the Yorks travel light; the baggage train was nearly a mile long and escorted by an armed retinue of five hundred men, for protection in territory that was historically hostile. Inevitably progress was slow and stops were frequent but although the harbingers usually managed to find shelter for the ducal family, it was often modest and, to put it bluntly, frequently infested. I did not hear Cicely complain but nor did I see her smile and each day it seemed that her shoulders drooped further and she did not sit her horse with her usual air of command. When we reached the port of Penrhyn we could see the high walls of Beaumaris Castle across the narrow strait on the Island of Anglesey but our ships were waiting at the mainland dock and we spent only one night in a fortified manor house belonging to a knight of Richard’s Welsh affinity before boarding for our voyage to Dublin.
For once the Irish Sea was calm and so I was surprised to see Cicely rush to the ship’s rail towards the end of our passage. ‘I am afraid there is another child on the way,’ she confessed ruefully when I went to her aid with fresh water and a clean napkin. ‘Thank you for playing nursemaid, Cuthbert. You are always there when I need you.’
‘Is that not what our father intended?’ I said with a smile.
Her voice was muffled as she dried her face. ‘I think it was for your fighting skills that he selected you as my champion and I fear they may be needed before too long.’ She stared morosely ahead at the misty outline of mountains on the horizon, drawing ever nearer. ‘God took my baby the last time I sailed these waters. Perhaps he will be merciful and send another storm. I do not care to think of bringing a child into the world in that benighted island.’
This evidence of the depth of Cicely’s melancholy took me aback and words of comfort did not instantly spring to mind. Nor did I notice Richard rushing to offer consolation. In fact I hardly saw them speak to each other during the entire crossing. I thought it sad if there was a serious rift between them because I had always considered their union an example of how dynastic marriages could prove successful.
Inevitably Richard was unhappy too but outwardly at least his dejection centred on his political status. ‘I am contracted to rule this godforsaken place for ten years but Ireland is an ungovernable bog,’ he complained as we rode together from the port of Howth to Dublin Castle. ‘Nor have my ancestors fared well here. Fifty years ago it proved the downfall of poor King Richard, my Mortimer grandfather was killed by an Irish mob, and my uncle of March died here of the plague. In this damp and miserable place the white rose will never flourish and that is why they sent me here. May the devil take Suffolk and Somerset!’
In the end Cicely stayed in Ireland less than a year. In Dublin Castle in October she delivered another son whom they called George and, contrary to her worst fears, he proved a healthy boy with a lusty cry and a dimple in his chin, confirming for me that there was no logic to the wheel of fortune; it simply turned as and when it would and babies, like all God’s creatures, lived and died according to His will. Cicely doted so much on this new son that I began to feel rather sorry for her clutch of rather neglected girls, Anne, Elizabeth and Meg, especially Anne who, instead of starting to blossom as she passed her tenth birthday, seemed to become more introspective and was plagued with ugly eruptions on her face. She went to great lengths to avoid contact with Harry who, for his part, used every possible opportunity to pass comment on her complexion, calling her a ‘spotty dog’ and yowling at her like a hound on the scent whenever they crossed paths. If I caught him at it I put him on punishment duty but despite being regularly confined to the castle and therefore unable to visit the Dublin stews like most of the young henchmen, he still persisted in tormenting his unfortunate bride. For some unfathomable reason it seemed to give him perverted pleasure. I mentioned it once or twice to Cicely, to see if she could protect her daughter from him in some way but she merely suggested that I speak to Richard.
‘He was the one who insisted on the marriage, let him deal with the consequences,’ she said with a lack of maternal concern which I found shocking but interpreted as another symptom of the rift in their marriage and her general malaise.
Anne must have breathed a huge sigh of relief when Harry joined the force of a thousand men which Richard and I took north to Carrickfergus Castle in his county of Ulster for a gathering of the northern Irish lords. During the month he spent meeting with the warlike and rumbustious clan chiefs who had succeeded in keeping the English out of so much Irish territory, I became more and more impressed with Richard’s powers of diplomacy. When he was the king’s lieutenant in France he had shown considerable skill in preserving relations between the natives of Normandy and their English conquerors and in Ireland he displayed a similar charismatic ability to bring to heel many Gaelic clan chiefs who had originally come to his table with intentions that were far from friendly. It helped that he had a rudimentary grasp of the local language, acquired during a summer spent as a young man on his Ulster estates, and that his mother had been sister to Roger Mortimer, the sixth Earl of Ulster, until now the most popular Englishman to attempt to rule Ireland. Richard was justifiably proud of what he had achieved by the time we trotted back through the Irish march lands and into the area known as the Dublin Pale. Treaties had been made in that month with men whose ancestors had repulsed their English overlords by sword and fire for generations. In the north at least he was confident that several of the chieftains would start to administer their estates according to English law and in return receive protection from the Dublin administration. It was a small start but a significant one.
Important news was waiting from England when we reached Dublin Castle. Richard and Cicely did not dine with the household in the great hall but after the meal he sent for me to join him in his official chamber. Cicely was there already, seated at a large table covered in letters and scrolls and the remains of a hurried meal. As soon as I stepped through the door I felt an atmosphere of contention. Her face was set like stone and her hands were clenched together in her lap.
‘There is news of some moment, Cuthbert,’ Richard said, handing me a paper covered in closely written script. ‘A meeting of Parliament has been called and has accused Suffolk of selling England to France. He is in the Tower.’
This was indeed a momentous development and one which Richard clearly welcomed, to judge by his expression. The letter I took from him came from a member of the parliament who was one of Richard’s supporters. A Bill of Complaint had been tabled which listed so many charges of neglect and embezzlement against the Earl of Suffolk in his capacity as steward of the royal household that the king had been obliged to agree to his detention in the Tower, albeit in the palace rather than the prison.
‘What about the Earl of Somerset?’ I asked. ‘Has he been recalled from France?’
Since Richard’s other arch enemy Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, had been chosen to replace him officially as lieutenant of France, the city of Rouen, which Richard had spent so much money and effort to defend, had fallen to the French, followed one after another by its surrounding satellite towns. There was now very little of Normandy left under English rule. What is more, while Somerset had been paid in hard coin for his services, the king still owed York tens of thousands of crowns.
‘All the Normandy lands I acquired for Edmund have been overrun. Somerset made pathetic efforts to save his own estates and I believe he is still over there, but with Rouen gone he will be forced to return to England pretty soon. That is if he dares to show his face. But first King Henry has to deal with parliament’s accusations against Suffolk. As you can imagine I am eager to offer him my advice and am minded to return to England straight away. Of course it would be against the council’s orders but the chief villains of the council are not in a position to complain.’ Richard indicated Cicely, who had so far said nothing. ‘However, Cicely does not feel able to handle affairs here.’
‘That is not entirely accurate,’ said Cicely coldly. ‘I do not wish to be left here with our children when a rebellion is brewing in the south of Ireland. Until his return today, my lord was not aware that while he was sweet-talking the chieftains in the north, those in the south have been preparing an attack on the Dublin Pale. It seems there is not much love lost between the chiefs of the two ends of this benighted island. I have told my lord that for the children’s safety I wish to return to England with them and I believe it is his responsibility to remain here and deal with any insurrection.’
The look of gleeful pleasure generated by the news about Suffolk had vanished from Richard’s face. ‘It is unnecessary to burden Cuthbert with our personal differences, my lady,’ he snapped.
‘Cuddy is my brother,’ she retorted. ‘He understands the necessity of securing the safety of our children even if you do not and I am sure he will agree to command a suitable escort for us to return to Ludlow as soon as it can be arranged. That is why you asked him to attend you, is it not, my lord?’
Richard rustled the papers on the table impatiently. ‘There is certainly plenty of evidence here that there is unrest in Galway and Tipperary and the trouble is spreading. However, I am sure it can be quickly nipped in the bud.’
‘But not by me, or by any deputy you might appoint,’ observed Cicely swiftly. ‘Your success in the north can be repeated in the south. You have said so yourself. How better to demonstrate your ability to govern than by bringing Ireland fully under the English crown? Something no one has yet managed to achieve.’
Richard gave me an exasperated look. ‘Now you can appreciate how I am hen-pecked, Cuthbert. But Cicely is right about one thing – I believe I can unite Ireland under English rule and in return for doing so I will demand that King Henry acknowledges me publicly as his heir. For that reason and for that reason alone …’ – he cast a fierce glance at Cicely – ‘I have agreed to your sister’s request to return to Ludlow. She can check on the boys’ health and education and I would appreciate your assessment of their military training. I know I can trust you to make any changes you think necessary.’
I made Richard a brief bow of acquiescence and caught Cicely’s fleeting smile of satisfaction as I lowered my head.
The duke nodded and made a polite gesture of dismissal, then added an afterthought, ‘Oh, and Cuthbert, I will send a hundred fighting men as an escort for my family but I would like you to recruit and train another five hundred loyal men for my personal retinue, ready for my return before the end of the year. I do not anticipate staying in Ireland longer than that.’
I was grateful not to have to organize a larger party for the journey. With our escort, baggage, horses, Cicely’s women and the York children and servants, we just managed to squeeze into two ships for the Irish Sea crossing, but the winds turned against us and it was not until the first week of May that we finally made landfall, not as expected at Penrhyn but having been blown further east to Conwy on the border with England. By that time sea sickness had affected almost everyone and conditions on board were torrid but nevertheless every day that brought us nearer to the mainland had lifted Cicely’s spirits higher.
‘I had not realized how sad I had become,’ she confided to me when we were finally on dry land again and riding south down the Welsh march, along the Conwy River. It was a safer route than the one we had taken to Penrhyn and we felt less threatened. Under a clear sky, spring lambs were gambolling in the lush valley pastures as only young creatures can and the sight was enough to gladden the saddest heart.
Cicely was entranced by them. ‘Do you know, Cuddy, there have been times recently when I thought I would never smile again,’ she said, pulling out of the procession and stopping to admire their antics. ‘Those lambs remind me of Edward with their long legs. Like them, he is never still.’
I eased my horse out to join her. ‘Well, you are not far from Edward now,’ I observed. ‘He has had a birthday recently has he not? How old is he now – eight?’
‘Eight – and aching to be eighteen. I have never known anyone grasp at life the way he does. Come on, Cuddy, let us scatter a few sheep!’
‘Mind the lambs!’ I called after her, clapping my heels to my horse’s sides. ‘Do not forget you have six of your own.’
Cicely did not keep up the hectic pace for long but the speed brought a becoming flush to her cheeks. We slowed up some distance ahead of the column of our cavalcade and she pulled off the turban hat she always wore when riding and let her long hair fly in the breeze. It was still the same deep auburn it had been when she was a girl. I counted the years – she was thirty-four – and I could discern no trace of grey, despite the worries and responsibilities she had carried since her marriage.
‘I can never forget my six lambs, or the four I have lost, any more than I can forget that England is being beggared by a bunch of incompetent fraudsters and the father of my lambs is on what amounts to a one-man crusade to stop them. But just for a few minutes I would like to banish all of that from my mind!’
‘Before you do just tell me – do you think Richard has any chance of succeeding?’
She ran her hands through her springy hair as if she would slough off the question. ‘I have no idea, Cuddy, but one thing I do know, he will have to make a lot more friends and allies than he has at present if he wants to get back to the king’s council table. It is strange that he seems able to charm the Irish, because he gets on the wrong side of people at home. His lands and titles provoke jealousy and his grandiose attitude may impress the masses but not his peers. I have told him but he will not listen.’ She wheeled her horse and headed off towards the river which dissected the pasture. ‘Enough of that, I want to ride in the water!’
