Red Rose, White Rose (33 page)

I arched my body towards him in response and threw off the robe. ‘And you have it, my liege, ever and always.’

But as I surrendered willingly to his familiar caresses and possession, I could not help crossing my fingers. Perhaps I could give him love and fidelity but, a little wickedly, I prayed that I would not once again give evidence of fertility.

Tattershall Castle

Cicely

‘Y
ou honour my house with your noble presence, your grace.’ Lord Cromwell’s words flowed smooth and honeyed on a bed of gravel. He was magnificently gowned in belted black fur-trimmed damask copiously figured with his personal emblem, which was a gold, tasselled purse, signifying a lifelong intimacy with high finance.

I edged a sincerity I did not feel into my response. ‘Such a house is worthy of an emperor, my lord, and I am honoured to enter it.’ Marie! I thought, I do not like this sharp-faced, egregious baron. Nor do I like this ugly red and white castle of his.

Ralph Cromwell had grown rich in the service of the crown, having served as Lord Treasurer during King Henry’s minority and being at present Lord Chamberlain of the royal household. As a result he had built several new and glorious residences on his estates but I had been told that he considered Tattershall Castle to be the jewel among them. It was constructed of red brick, a new and favoured building material in the low-lying landscape of Lincolnshire where stone was hard to come by, and so the small amount of white stone he had imported was restricted to the merlons and machiolations, which on this massive square tower looked more like sugar decorations than defensive necessities. There was no denying its menacing dominance over the surrounding countryside, however. On our approach to it I had not been able to suppress the thought that it resembled a huge erect phallus, disproportionate and threatening.

Richard firmly believed Cromwell had amassed his fortune at the expense of the crown but that the embezzlement had been too subtle to be prosecuted, all of which proved to me that this lubricious old man was uncommonly clever, for in my experience prising money out of the royal coffers was like squeezing blood out of a stone. Nevertheless, as one who was still owed a vast debt by the exchequer, my husband had felt an antipathy strong enough to excuse himself from attending the wedding of Cromwell’s niece Maud to my nephew Tom Neville, even though Tom had been one of Richard’s personal squires for several years. But I had accepted the invitation, in support of my brother Hal’s family, of course, and because Maud, during her marriage to Richard’s staunch ally, the elderly Baron Willoughby, had been my dear friend. I had admired the spirited and gracious way she had handled Tom’s youthful passion for her without cruelty to him or compromise to her union with the now-deceased Lord Willoughby and liked to think that this marriage was a reward for them both.

Standing beside Lord Cromwell on the sweeping steps of the castle fore-building was his wife, a tall, solid woman wearing a purple and gold headdress wired in a way which gave her a rather ox-like appearance. Lady Margaret was a distant cousin of mine on my father’s side and beneath this alarming headpiece there flashed a pair of shrewd grey Neville eyes. Her smile did not reach them when she added a conventional greeting to that of her husband.

There was nothing cool about the welcome of the beautiful woman beside her, however. ‘I am so very happy that you have come,’ said Maud Willoughby, taking my hands and offering her peach-skinned cheek for a kiss.

‘I could not have failed to respond to such a warm invitation,’ I told her. ‘It is a union I hope will bring joy to you both and friendship between our families.’

I was sincere in my wish for I knew that while affection might be involved to some extent, this was nevertheless a match of political expedience, arranged by Hal and Lord Cromwell in order to seal an alliance of their considerable forces at a time of great insecurity in the kingdom.

‘I see you have brought the Duchess of Exeter with you, your grace,’ said Lady Cromwell, fixing her gaze over my shoulder. My fourteen-year-old daughter’s name had not been included in the invitation but she remembered Maud’s visits to Fotheringhay and Tom’s kindness to Edmund and she had begged to attend their wedding. I think it was a sense of guilt at my own lamentable lack of maternal affection for Anne that had prompted me to agree to bring her.

‘Yes, Lady Cromwell. My daughter was eager to attend and I was sure there could be no objection. Weddings amuse the young, do they not?’

The baron sniffed loudly through the pinched nostrils of his long, pointed nose. ‘That may be so, your grace, but as you have been travelling you cannot have heard that the Duke of Exeter unlawfully seized my manor and castle of Ampthill a little over a week ago. If this wedding had not been scheduled I should even now be journeying to court to petition the king for restitution. You will understand I am sure that being obliged to welcome his duchess under my roof is – how shall I put it – undesirable.’

I tried not to let it show but I was furious to find myself in such an awkward situation. I turned to look at Anne whose face, already inflamed, suffused even further, causing ugly blotches to appear on her neck and throat. She stared helplessly at me in mute appeal, too mortified to speak.

‘As yet my daughter is Duchess of Exeter in name only, my lord,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your understandable objection but since Lady Anne still lives under her father’s protection I hope you will find it possible to welcome her for his sake. I am sure the Duke of York will do all he can to help you get your manor and castle restored to you.’

Lord Cromwell pursed his lips and then nodded briefly. ‘She is welcome as your daughter then, your grace. Though not, I feel bound to stipulate, as Exeter’s wife.’

Maud stepped forward, anxious to dispel the atmosphere of contention. ‘May I be allowed to show her grace to her apartments, uncle?’ she asked with one of her winning smiles. ‘We can catch up on family news as we do so.’

The West Tower of Tattershall, where we were to be lodged, was the only surviving part of the old limestone fortress which had once stood on the site, built with footings in the waters of a wide inner moat and linked to the new red-brick keep by a wooden bridge. Maud and I led the way, followed by Anne and her cousin Alys, my brother Will’s youngest daughter, who had come to the York household two years ago to be prepared for her marriage to Sir John Conyers, Hal’s new constable at Middleham Castle. Alys, a little older than Anne, had proved a great boon for the two had become good friends, which had improved Anne’s outlook on life enormously. They hung back behind us, whispering earnestly together, no doubt discussing the embarrassing scene they had just witnessed.

‘Here we are,’ said Maud, opening a carved oak door which led into a hexagonal chamber hung with fine pastoral tapestries. A lancet window with cushioned seats in its embrasure was fitted with a leaded casement which stood open to the warm August air, giving a framed glimpse of the inner court and the distant variegated green of the Lincolnshire Wolds. ‘There are two other chambers through there and an attic for your servants. I hope you will be comfortable.’ She pointed to a connecting door and the two girls immediately passed through it to investigate.

‘I was sorry to hear about the death of your brother, Maud,’ I said, fingering the tapestries and noting their weighty quality. ‘Were you very close?’

Maud laughed. ‘No. We hardly spoke. He was a slothful lay-about who boasted to anyone who would listen that he was my uncle’s heir and would be as rich as Croesus one day. I consider it nothing but justice that death has intervened. Lord Cromwell is not best pleased to have no male heir but he has acknowledged me and my sister now and my portion more than satisfies your brother, Lord Salisbury’s expectations for Tom. Is that not fortuitous?’

‘I confess I was surprised that your uncle sought an alliance with Salisbury,’ I said. ‘Is he very frightened of Exeter?’

‘Terrified,’ Maud confirmed. ‘He believes Harry might murder him in his bed. That is why he lives so tightly immured in Tattershall’s moated keep. What is the matter with young Harry Holland? He rampages around England like a madman.’

‘Yes, it seems there is no stopping him since he came into his estates,’ I agreed. ‘His retinue grows by the year – he must have at least a thousand wearing the Wheatear badge by now. Most of them are hardened campaigners, newly returned from France and of course they need paying, so I imagine that is why he seized Ampthill – for its revenue.’

Maud threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘He simply overran the place without warning, claiming it to be part of his inheritance, although my uncle has full royal tenure and legal proof that he purchased it years ago from Harry’s father. The king should exert his authority.’

I stepped forward and closed the chamber door against being overheard. ‘King Henry tends to leave authority to the queen I believe. On the rare occasion that he exerts any, it is only to advance the House of Lancaster. Even the Suffolk cause, once so close to his heart, has now felt the loss of his favour. I received a letter from the Dowager Countess a few months ago bewailing the fact that the king had acquired a papal annulment of her son’s marriage to the Somerset heiress and given her instead to his half-brother Edmund Tudor, the new Earl of Richmond. The Tudor boys are the new royal favourites and of course any son of Margaret Beaufort would carry the Lancaster line. However, that all happened before King Henry knew that Queen Margaret herself was pregnant.’

‘Yes, that was a surprise to everyone. They must be wearing their knees out praying for a boy. But tell me, what news of his grace of York? I am sorry he is not here with you.’

I thought it politic not to mention Richard’s antipathy towards the origins of Lord Cromwell’s wealth and so I took a different track. ‘Well, Richard is away lending support to my nephew, the Earl of Warwick, potentially another young firebrand like Harry Holland, who is in dispute with Somerset over the lordship of Glamorgan in Wales. And you will know all about the feuds in Yorkshire between Tom’s family and the Westmorland Nevilles. Armed conflict erupts everywhere. I am surprised Lord Salisbury is coming to his son’s wedding at all. Is he here yet?’

Maud went to the window and looked down into the inner bailey. ‘There is no sign of his arrival, although fore-runners came in this morning saying he was on the road.’ She turned back towards the door. ‘I will go and check that your servants are bringing your baggage. When Lord Salisbury arrives we will dine
en famille
in the keep hall. Lord Cromwell fears crowds which is why our wedding will be small. I will send word. Until then I bid you good day, your grace.’

Cheerfully she proffered me a low curtsy and a wide smile and disappeared through the stair door, closing it behind her. The room fell quiet except for the low murmur of the girls’ voices from the next chamber. I crossed to the window and sank gratefully onto the cushioned seat, my muscles aching from three days’ riding and I was not yet fully recovered from a difficult confinement ten months before. All my hopes for an end to child-bearing had been in vain and I had laboured long and hard to bring our latest boy into the world. My prayers now were all for the new baby who was small and curiously formed, not crippled but slightly shortened in the trunk and weakened by it in some way. He had not yet sat up without support but his eyes were bright and his smiles were wide and charming in dimpled cheeks. In looks he was the most like his father of all our living sons, which was providential because we had called him Richard, with a nursery name of Dickon. I prayed that he would be blessed with his father’s drive and determination because God had not granted him an easy start.

Persistent post-natal discomfort and a dread of further childbearing had caused me to withdraw from my husband both emotionally and physically. For the last eighteen months he had based himself at Ludlow with Edward and Edmund while I remained with the rest of our children at Fotheringhay. Sometimes I reflected that our differences were symptomatic of the disintegration of the kingdom. The breakdown of Richard’s relationship with the king had tested his allegiance almost beyond endurance, just as childbirth had tested mine.

Lulled by the warm sunshine streaming in through the window, I closed my eyes. I did not sleep but my mind drifted, recalling our last conversation six months previously, before Richard had set off on another quest for justice from the king. I had only recently been churched after the birth of Dickon and I was still damaged and weak. I had barely been able to walk up the long nave at Fotheringhay for the churching, yet when Richard came to acknowledge his son and bid me farewell he offered no words of comfort or encouragement but instead launched into a long rant against the Duke of Somerset and his blatant acquisition of all the most lucrative royal appointments.

‘He has made himself Captain of Calais, Chamberlain of the Royal Household and Steward of the Duchy of Lancaster. Why does he not simply make himself Archbishop of Canterbury, Treasurer and Lord Chancellor as well and occupy every seat at the council table? He, who abandoned Rouen and slipped out of Normandy with his wife and children, leaving poor Shrewsbury to handle the ignominy of surrender to the French! He should be impeached for that treachery alone.’