Red Rose, White Rose (48 page)

For one wavering Yorkist supporter, however, this offer of a pardon had proved impossible to resist. Our forces had dug defences and gun emplacements in fields at Ludford Bridge on the banks of the River Teme less than a mile outside Ludlow, where they faced the royal army across only a few hundred yards of scrubland. In the small hours of the previous night Sir Andrew Trollope, a veteran commander of the French wars and a senior member of Warwick’s Calais contingent, had crept across those vital yards of open land with all his men and taken with him knowledge of all York plans and strategies.

This had been the last straw for Richard and he had called his commanders away from the field for this crucial summit meeting. His proposal now was that once arrangements were made for Hal to flee to Ireland, they should all take up the king’s offer and accept his pardon on their knees, eliciting Dick’s instant and indignant rejection.

Although he remained seated, Richard’s response was equally robust. ‘Half of those men you brought from Calais followed the traitorous Trollope over to the other side, my lord of Warwick. They are probably on their knees right now, spilling our secrets. And can you have forgotten that, in addition to your father’s perilous situation, your two brothers are locked up in Chester Castle, in imminent danger of being arraigned for treason? Would you be responsible for putting their heads on the block?’

Warwick stepped nearer Richard’s chair to reinforce his fierce riposte. ‘It would not be me who was responsible for that, my lord uncle, it would be the queen. But she knows full well that any such action would destroy the king’s cause, therefore she will not do it and that is precisely why we should not give in to her spurious demands for abasement. For we all know, do we not, that the queen leads the king like an ass in a halter? And she is in no way to be trusted. Therefore no offer or promise that comes to us in the king’s name is to be trusted.’ He turned to his father. ‘She laid a trap for you at Blore Heath, my lord, and you called her bluff then. Now we must do it again. Our only option is to fight.’

Hal frowned and rubbed his forehead distractedly. ‘I would like to agree with you, Dick, but militarily we are at even more of a disadvantage here than I was at Blore Heath. Thanks to Trollope’s betrayal, not only is the royal army twice the size of ours but it is better situated in open country, whereas we would be fighting with our backs to the River Teme. Name me a soldier who wants to die by drowning? If he did he would have been a sailor. In addition it is not only Stanley’s and Neville’s men who are wary of taking arms against the king’s person. When we order an attack, our own forces may also refuse.’

Thus far I had made no contribution to the debate but since there was one important factor they all seemed to have ignored I felt bound to interject. ‘If you intend to sue for peace, my lords, what do you expect to be the result? Will you not be placing your lives and those of your families and supporters at the mercy of the one person you know to be most vindictive and vengeful against York – namely the queen? I suspect you may find that the words “free pardon” apply to your bodies but not to your lands and your revenues. With one bend of the knee you will hand them all to the crown – a crown that is worn by the king but controlled by the queen, who is desperate for funds.’

It was Richard’s cue to turn all his anger and frustration onto me. ‘Saints’ bones, my lady, do you not imagine that the spectre of attainder preys constantly on all our minds? But since we have been driven into this corner by the arbitrary and irrational actions of one woman do you think it helps us to be nagged and criticized by another?’

Given the stress my husband had been under for months, his bitter vehemence did not surprise or unduly upset me but the attack proved too much for Edward who nobly took my part, whilst also cleverly contriving to calm the atmosphere.

‘I have no experience of married life but I think that is what is called a marital spat.’ In his disarming way Edward grinned broadly at everyone as he said this, enjoying his own joke and his ability to do so in the face of maximum tension seemed to prick its bubble. Lips twitched involuntarily all around the room, particularly Edmund’s, who put his hand hastily to his mouth to hide his mirth.

‘But my lady mother is right, Dick,’ Edward added more seriously, turning to address his cousin. ‘Our actions and our choices affect our families as much as ourselves. Instead of insisting on a fight should we not seriously consider the other option – flight?’

There was sudden and total silence. All humour dissolved and everyone froze as if a leopard had prowled into the room.

Hal was first to break the ice. ‘If I am to live, flight seems my only option but I think Edward makes a good point. Would it not be sensible for you to consider it too, Richard?’

Richard’s gaze was fixed on his son, his flecked eyes gleaming in the candlelight under beetled brows. ‘It is the coward’s way out,’ he growled. ‘I am surprised to hear it suggested by a Plantagenet.’

I took a sharp breath. I had never heard Richard draw public attention to his Plantagenet heritage before; the royal line going back to the second King Henry’s Angevin father. Was he beginning to think seriously of himself less as a son of York and more as a potential king of England? If so, I thought, would not the prospect of kneeling before King Henry and kissing his feet be anathema to him? I saw now that the glint in his eyes was messianic rather than morose and Edward had spotted it too because he was not displaying anger at being indirectly accused of cowardice.

Hal however took the remark another way entirely. ‘Are you calling me a coward then, my lord duke, to choose a sea voyage over death by the axe?’

It was Richard’s turn to smile, using my brother’s family name to demonstrate his abrupt change in attitude. ‘No, Hal, quite the opposite. I am seriously wondering if cowardice might be the temporary answer to all our predicaments.’

‘You mean you might flee to Ireland too?’ I choked on the question, unable to digest this sudden volte face.

Richard attempted reassurance. ‘Not me alone, Cicely; we should all go – me, you and all our children. We can take ship from Penrhyn as usual. Word will not have reached that far of our flight from the king’s forces and we will easily find transport. If we fight from the position we are in now we either die on the battlefield or on the block. If we make a run for it we can re-group and start again; us from Ireland, Dick from Calais. It is possible, even preferable.’

His whole attitude had changed; he looked and sounded more enthusiastic than I had witnessed for weeks, like a boy about to go on his first hunt. I hated to quench his fire but Edward did it anyway, albeit for different reasons.

‘I agree that Ireland may be the refuge for you, my lord father, but I hope you will forgive me if I choose to go to Calais with my lord of Warwick.’

‘And I think it better that I, too, accompany my son to Calais,’ put in Hal quickly. ‘I see your reasons for choosing Ireland, Richard, where you have revenues available from your estates but in Calais there would be more opportunity for me to further our cause.’

Richard’s face clouded and, for a moment, I wondered if he was at least going to attempt to persuade Edward to change his mind but with a decisive nod he stood up. ‘Very well, it seems we are all agreed on our course of action. In which case let us adjourn to make our arrangements but we need to decide on our future strategy before we leave because communication will be difficult and we cannot afford to give the men presently in the field any inkling of our intentions or they will begin to slip away themselves and that will alert the Lancastrians. I suggest we reassemble here for mass and a last meal after dark. A night departure is essential if we are to make an undetected get-away.’

I tried to catch his attention but he strode swiftly from the room with the other lords in his wake and pride prevented me from running after him. He would have to wait until his foot was almost in the stirrup before he discovered what it was I wanted to tell him. Meanwhile I had my own arrangements to make and I set off for my solar where I knew I would find Margaret. Now thirteen, under normal circumstances arrangements for her marriage would at least have been under consideration but all our attention was concentrated elsewhere, a situation which seemed to suit Margaret admirably. Always of a studious bent, she had been happily sharing Edmund’s academic studies and following my direction in learning household affairs. As a result we had been spending much time together and I found her an amusing and agreeable companion.

Before I reached the stair to my chamber on the floor above however I was stopped by Edmund, who laid a determined hand on my arm.

‘May I speak with you privately, my lady mother?’ he asked a little apprehensively.

I nodded, guessing what was on his mind. ‘Come with me to my chamber, Edmund. We can talk there.’

Next to the solar, where Margaret and my ladies would be engaged in their various activities, was a smaller chamber which was used as an oratory. I drew Edmund in there and closed the door.

He could hardly wait to blurt out his chief concern. ‘I wish to go with Edward.’

I took a seat in the window embrasure where I had received the oaths of Cuthbert and Hilda and gestured my son to another. ‘Sit down, Edmund. I think your father has it in mind for you to accompany him to Ireland. After all it is his intention that the Ulster lands should be passed over to you on your majority. It is time you learned your way around them. They may provide all the revenue we have for the time being.’

His face crumpled in distress. ‘But Edward and I have always been together,’ he said. ‘Why is he to go with Dick and Uncle Hal?’

I decided there was nothing for it but to take him into my confidence. He was sixteen. At the same age King, Henry had been considered old enough to assume his regal responsibilities.

I leaned forward and took his hands in mine, holding his gaze with what I hoped he would recognize as maternal pride. ‘It is not so much why Edward is going with them but why you are going with your father. I will let you into a secret, my son. Your father does not know it yet but I will not be going to Ireland. As you know Ursula is not well and Richard still has a delicate constitution. I cannot contemplate taking them on a hazardous flight across Wales and a rough sea journey to Dublin. I do not think Ursula would survive it, your brother George is too young to assume a squire’s role and Margaret will stay with me of course; which leaves you alone to be squire and companion to your father. He needs you, Edmund. You are his flesh and blood. You can attend to his needs and learn from his wisdom. It is your chance to have his attention and render him service, away from Edward. And it is Edward’s opportunity to make his own way in another household. Does that answer your question?’

Edmund looked at me quizzically. ‘You make it sound as if I would be doing my father a favour by going with him.’

I smiled and shook my head. ‘That is not just how it sounds, Edmund. That is how it is. He will need you now as he has never done before and if you use this opportunity well you will become more important to your father than any of us.’

I loved him for his next query. He was to be the only one to make any reference to it throughout the rest of the day and the night that lay ahead, before the storm broke.

‘But what about you, Mother? If you stay here there will be no one to protect you. What if the Lancastrians ransack the castle?’

Edmund had suggested something that was more than just a possibility. Although the king considered himself a man of peace and reconciliation, he was a weak commander and when they learned that York, Salisbury and Warwick had absconded, the queen and her Lancastrian favourites would be furious and unlikely to make any effort to control their army. It would be open season in Ludlow to the thuggish element that inhabited every military force and I doubted if the king could or would do anything to prevent pillaging, looting and worse. In truth I did not know what I would do, other than gather my children around me and pray.

However, I did not want sensitive Edmund worrying about what he was leaving behind when he would have to concentrate on looking out for himself and his father on their dangerous flight through Wales, so I made light of his fears. ‘I am sure the king will not take any action against an abandoned woman and her children. He is a man of honour who will ensure our protection and so you must not worry about us but make sure that your father reaches safety before the Lancastrians catch up with him. You must understand, Edmund, that it would be his head on the block, not mine or yours.’

He stood up, his face solemn. ‘I shall go and find my father now,’ he said with determination. ‘If I am to be with him I must know all his plans and help in his preparations.’

I rose also, feeling a surge of pride in my second son who had spent all his life in the shadow of his older brother. Perhaps if nothing else this enforced separation might be the making of him. ‘Indeed you must, my son,’ I said. ‘But it would be a favour to me if you would not mention my intentions to him before I have had a chance to tell him myself. When he returns from Ludford Bridge I will speak to him.’

I had been choosing my words with Edmund, treading carefully, but when I spoke at last with Margaret it was a different matter. Young as she was, she was a pragmatic and practical soul and quick to grasp the critical nature of our situation. ‘Do not worry about George and Dickon,’ she said, immediately adopting a big-sisterly attitude. ‘I will explain everything to them, although I am sure they are already aware of some sort of crisis. You concentrate on Ursula, lady mother. She will not leave her bed and she complained this morning that her throat hurt. I think she has another of her fevers coming on.’

My heart sank at that. ‘I will go to her now,’ I assured her, ‘but later I will need you to help me with something I do not wish the others to know about. I will send someone to fetch you when I have seen what can be done for Ursula.’

Anicia now hid her grey hair under her nurse’s coif and she fretted over her fragile charge, the last child in the York nursery, applying cloths soaked in cold well-water to Ursula’s fevered brow.