Red Rose, White Rose (31 page)

‘And who does he think should be first in line?’ I asked, tongue in cheek, scanning the clerk’s cramped script.

‘Well Richard
is
the clear heir,’ Cicely replied with conviction. ‘He is directly descended from Edward the Third through the male line.’

‘So are the Beauforts, are they not? And by a senior line. He will clash head on with Somerset over this and it is more than obvious whom the king favours.’

My logic was met with a fierce frown. ‘The House of York has always considered the Beaufort claim spurious. Richard maintains that John of Gaunt did the country no favours when he married his mistress and legitimized their children. In the past I looked on it rather differently, being the daughter of one of those children, but now I am Duchess of York my allegiance is to my husband’s cause. Besides it is undeniable that the kingdom needs strong leadership and the Beauforts have never shown much of that. When a man has been single-handedly responsible for losing most of Normandy, it makes no sense to make him heir to the throne of England. You have seen at first-hand how much success Richard had in Normandy and how much progress he has made in Ireland, whereas under Edmund Beaufort’s lieutenancy France has routed England. You will undertake this important task for Richard, will you not, Cuthbert?’

Her use of my baptismal name indicated that she expected a swift and formal confirmation but I hesitated. I was not a landed knight. I had no stake in the fabric of the kingdom and my allegiance was not to Richard but to Cicely. Strictly speaking I was not bound by oath to York and if the duke was coming back to England to exert his claim as heir to the throne, I could see his conflict with Somerset swiftly escalating from a war of words into violent confrontation. If I were to recruit what amounted to an army to fuel that conflict and spy for Richard at the same time, at worst I could be accused of treason and at best find myself embroiled in a campaign that might result in a battle for the throne of England. I glanced at Hilda. She and I had only just discovered the joy of a happy marriage and I was loath to jeopardize that happiness by involving myself deeply in a quarrel which might plunge me into treason and bloodshed.

Hilda surprised me by returning my enquiring glance with a fierce glare. ‘Why do you hesitate, Cuddy? You are Cicely’s liegeman. Where she goes, you go and I go too. We have been committed since childhood.’

I had no wish to offend Cicely. I could tell from her expression that she was puzzled by my wavering and Hilda’s vehemence tipped me into compliance. ‘Until now I have always thought of myself as a Lancastrian who was lending my loyalty to York,’ I said, ‘but now I see that it has come to the point where I cannot support the red rose while I serve the white.’ The letter dropped from my grasp as I slipped from my seat to my knees and held out my hands to Cicely as if in prayer. ‘My lady of York, as proxy for your lord Richard I declare to you that in future I will be faithful to him and to you and serve York against all persons as your liegeman of life and limb. May God smite me if I fail in this my vow.’

For a moment Cicely looked rather stunned and then she took both my hands in hers in the legal and traditional way. ‘Sir Cuthbert of Middleham, I accept your vow in good faith both for myself and for my liege-lord, Richard, Duke of York. In return I give you York’s faithful promise before God to protect and defend you and yours against your enemies.’

A solemn silence fell between us and then beside me I felt Hilda drop to her knees and offer her own vow. ‘I bring no sword to your service but I, too, declare my love and loyalty to you, Cicely, Duchess of York and call on God and his Holy Mother to witness my oath.’

It was done. There was no going back to Neville now; no going back to the fealty I had sworn to my father, the old Earl of Westmorland, or the oath I had made to Countess Joan. We had made ourselves vassals of York, sworn to support the actions of the duke, whether or not we considered them wise. I turned to help Hilda to her feet and squeezed her hand as I did so. The looks we exchanged were fleeting and rueful.

‘Thank you, Hilda, thank you, Cuthbert,’ Cicely said graciously, inclining her head in the heart-shaped padded head-dress she had taken to wearing, which I thought made her look unmistakably grand but dauntingly severe. ‘I shall be sure to inform Richard of your fealty and willingness to serve him. He will need all the support we can give him in these very uncertain times.’

I pondered these words later, wondering if the rift I had detected in their marriage when we left Ireland had closed during their time apart. She had found Dublin a frightening place, full of hostile forces and far removed from friends and family. Being back with her older sons had certainly reduced Cicely’s level of anxiety and the security offered by Ludlow’s stout defences, coupled with reassuring visits from the loyal barons, knights and ladies of the surrounding Mortimer lands, had noticeably lightened her mood.

Having Hilda back at her side must also have had a great deal to do with it. During the weeks that followed, my own travels around the numerous honours, recruiting men for Richard’s new force, took me away from Ludlow a good deal but the two women seemed to have slipped easily back into their girlhood friendship and the atmosphere in Cicely’s great chamber whenever I attended one of her salons was noticeably more light-hearted than it had been for years. There was music and laughter and sometimes dancing and Hilda believed that part of it was also down to an improvement in Cicely’s health.

‘I have been counting, Cuthbert,’ she told me as we lay in our chamber one night discussing recent events, a luxury which I greatly appreciated having spent so many years as a knight bachelor. ‘Cicely has carried nine children in ten years and suffered the loss of three of them soon after birth. She thanks the Virgin and St Margaret for her own survival but it must have taken a great toll on her mind and body.’ She sat up and looked quizzically down at me. ‘I hope you are not going to put me through that kind of schedule.’ It took several seconds for me to fully grasp the meaning of her remark but then I reared up on one elbow and the expression on my face made her break into delighted laughter. ‘Oh, Cuddy, you look like a goggle-eyed frog!’

With difficulty I straightened my face. ‘Hilda, are you telling me that you are with child?’

‘Yes my dear husband; God willing, you are going to be a father.’

It was no wonder my eyes had popped. Before I married, fatherhood had not been high on my agenda. Being illegitimate myself, I had not wished to inflict that state upon another and earnestly hoped I had avoided doing so. As there had been no offspring from her marriage to Master Exley, I had assumed that Hilda was not able to have children but had given little thought to it. I had married her for herself and not for any dynastic purpose. Now suddenly, and to my surprise, I found myself absurdly thrilled at the notion of becoming a father.

Hilda must have taken my stunned silence as disapproval for her face fell. ‘It is quite a common result of an active marriage bed you know,’ she said. ‘And I would like to point out that ours has been particularly active.’

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and pulled her into my arms. ‘Oh no, Hilda, you misunderstand. I am completely and utterly delighted. It is just that I had given no thought to the possibility. Please believe me that the prospect of you carrying my child gives me great joy but I admit also to some trepidation. I am forty – a little old for fatherhood perhaps.’

She snuggled into my embrace with a contented sigh. ‘It is rather too late to worry about that I think. Anyway, when it comes to giving birth I am no spring chicken myself but we shall have to leave the outcome in the hands of the Almighty. Let us just enjoy the idea of a new life growing which is all our own work.’

Through the thin fabric of her chemise I cupped her breast in my hand and registered with astonishment its new fullness and weight. With my lips to her ear I murmured, ‘If that is work then I regret having to down tools but I believe the Church considers it a sin in these circumstances.’

My intentions were good but my body betrayed me and I would have rolled over to hide the fact but shamelessly she placed her hand on the offending organ and whispered, ‘Is that not what confession is for, my love? We can sin and receive absolution. I spent ten years failing to inspire such desire in Master Exley; please do not make me reject it now.’

Towards the end of August Cicely received a letter informing her of the duke’s intention to return to England via Wales and containing an order for me to meet him near Chester with my newly recruited army. Perhaps wisely he did not specify his movements and made no mention of coming to Ludlow. The unrest in Kent had subsided, largely due to the capture, mortal injury and death of Jack Cade and a purging of the other ringleaders, which inevitably resulted in another rash of hangings. By now the king’s advisers seemed even more convinced that the Duke of York was in some way responsible, to the extent that troops were ordered out from the royal castle at Chester to intercept and arrest him. However his scouts brought a warning so he managed to avoid them and the following day I and my new army made rendezvous with Richard at Shrewsbury. This brought the size of his force to over seven hundred, large enough to deter any further interceptions as we set off to gather more armed support from his estates in the Midlands and Gloucestershire. It was during this march that I began seriously to question his intentions and wonder even more seriously whether I had done the right thing throwing in my lot with York.

Richard had always maintained that the common people were impressed by conspicuous splendour and he had not abandoned any of his propensity for grandeur. Each member of his army of retainers wore a York livery jacket or jupon in parti-coloured murrey and blue and from every pike and lance fluttered a pennant depicting the duke’s falcon-and-fetterlock. His horse’s trappings were of heavy gold-trimmed azure silk, the bridle studded with gold medallions and the saddle hung with gilded stirrups. When he rode in armour it had to be polished so that the sun glinted off every joint and plate, his spurs were of silver-gilt and his helmet was ringed with a gold ducal coronet; if he did not need to wear it a squire carried it behind him on a velvet cushion. Harbingers preceded each day’s march, arranging camp sites and organizing suitable lodgings for the duke and his knights, if these were available. If they were not, the duke’s tent was erected, a canvas palace painted in bright colours, hung with heraldic pennants and fully equipped: trestles and chairs for meals and meetings, a curtained tester bed and a screened side tent with close stool and wash basin. All this pomp and show did not sit easy with me and every time my squire handed me the York jupon I pulled it over my head with a knot in my stomach. It had been bad enough finding myself cast on one side of a family quarrel at Lady Joan’s funeral ten years before but joining this pageant of York appeared dangerously like becoming part of a spectacular and treasonous bid for the throne of England.

Ludlow Castle, September – October 1450

Cicely

I
cannot deny that I had left Ireland agitated, fearful and exhausted, desperate to return to England and to check on the health and wellbeing of my two elder sons. Having Hilda back at my side restored my equilibrium and allowed me to admit that the relationship between myself and Richard had been on the verge of disintegrating. We had been in urgent need of a break from each other. Looking back I am guilt-struck by my marital disloyalty but the fact remains that one day at the end of September, while out riding with Hilda and my four oldest children I admired the sun shining on the golden stubble fields along the valley of the River Teme and suddenly realized that I had not felt so alive and energetic for years. When I remarked on this, Hilda made an observation which gave me pause for thought.

‘Little George will be one year old next month and you are not yet expecting again, Cicely,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that is why you feel so well. I do not believe you have had more than three or four months’ break from pregnancy since Edward was born.’

I gazed ahead at the four children. Edward had cantered along the river, followed by Anne, Edmund and Elizabeth, to a place where cattle had trodden a slope down the bank for drinking and there they had waded in, their ponies hock deep so that they could bend down from the saddle and splash each other, shrieking with laughter as they did so. Two grooms stood sentinel in case of accidents but were content to let the youngsters frolic in the warm autumn sunshine while the patient ponies dropped their heads and took the opportunity to drink. I recalled when baby Henry had died and I had come to believe that I would never carry a living son. Now, God be praised, I had my two strapping lads and little George, as well as three healthy girls; enough for any noble dynasty. But I could never forget the sons I had lost and the bitter heartache endured in grieving over their tiny corpses. The recent break from childbearing had been a break as well from the dread of another such tragedy. And there was no escaping the fact that it had only been achieved by putting the Irish Sea between Richard and me.

‘I hope that by starting late I will not be quite so fecund,’ added Hilda with a wry smile.

I halted my horse and stared at her. ‘You are pregnant?’

‘I am,’ declared Hilda gaily, not drawing rein but adding over her shoulder, ‘You are not the only one who can achieve it, my lady!’

I spurred my horse to catch her up. ‘Congratulations!’ I cried. ‘Please feel at liberty to take over the birthing role entirely. When is the baby due?’

‘I assure you we did not anticipate the wedding, so I should think sometime in April. I shall need all your expert advice.’

‘Get a good midwife is my advice. I have not given birth at Ludlow so I do not know of one but Lady Croft will know the best.’

Lady Croft was the wife of Edward and Edmund’s governor and mentor, Sir Richard Croft, whose family were long-term tenants of Mortimer lands and whose castle lay only a few miles away. She was a little younger than me and rather bossy but kind-hearted and often attended my salons. Hilda did not look impressed. ‘I am a knight-retainer’s wife, not a hereditary landholder’s. Lady Croft is rather grand but I imagine there are several perfectly good midwives who tend the burgher’s wives in the town.’