White Boar and the Red Dragon, The (27 page)

‘It is no good, my lord. She is quite unconscious, I think, and knows nothing of what is happening any more or who is with her. You are too late. The last thing she said to me this morning was that she just wanted to sleep now—to die peacefully. She begged me to take charge of her son and be his nurse until he is grown. And I promised her that I would,’ Ruth says, between barely stifled sobs.

‘You are a good woman, Ruth, and have stood by her through everything. But surely this cannot be the end? There must be something more that we can do? She still breathes and her pulse can be felt clearly, though it is thready. I will get the best doctors up from London to her. Even the king’s own doctor, Hobbes.’

‘I fear it will be to no avail, my lord. She has lost too much blood and has gone beyond all human help. Her body has no more strength left to recover, even if she had the will to, which I doubt now.’

‘I will not give up. I will not! I cannot accept that one so young and blameless of sin should be cut off like this remorselessly. Her whole life is ahead of her!’

‘When there is nothing more to be done that might help, one can only accept God’s will. I helped bring Kate into the world and she has been my dear charge always. But I accept now that she is in God’s hands—only he can save her—and I do not think that will happen, sadly.’

Richard, Fotheringhay Castle, Northamptonshire,
February 1472

‘You must not blame yourself, my son. It was not of your doing and not your fault in any way. You did all you could for Kate. Even the king’s own doctor you called, who rode post-haste from London, could do nothing. She had gone beyond all help.’

‘She lingered on for another week in that state, just fading away. It is not to be borne! If I could have given her my own blood in some way, I would! A precious young life lost all because of those devils!’

‘What they did to her was very terrible, but they did not make her have the abortion which killed her, Richard. She chose that way herself. Many girls in her situation do. They would rather risk death than bear the shame of giving birth to rapists’ spawn!’

‘You are right, I know, Mother, but it breaks my heart, the terrible unfairness of it all!’

‘Life is utterly unfair, my son. Surely you have learnt that by now? And it is completely arbitrary. Death comes too early for many innocent souls. Did you not lose friends on the battlefield who were younger than you?’

‘Yes, but I did not love them in the way I loved Kate.’

‘Human beings just do not get their desserts—even the good ones. The innocent suffer and the wicked seem to thrive, frequently! It is one of life’s mysteries, why God allows such things to happen. But we have to accept his will or his non-intervention, I think.

Now you must try to forget and look to your future and your coming marriage! Eastertide will be a time of joy for you! It should banish these sad happenings from your mind! You will be married to a woman you have always loved dearly. And you will have your whole life together to look forward to! And, of course, you have Kate’s boy. She will live in him for you always!’

‘That is true—I have John. But I loved Kate dearly too, Mother. It was a most passionate and wonderful love we shared! I shall never forget her—how could I?’

‘What will you do with the boy and his nurse, Ruth, isn’t it? Where will he be brought up? I know you promised Kate he would later be given a title and estates. But what about now? He is but two years old!’

‘I will take him to Middleham, where we are to live, Anne and I. He belongs near me. I must oversee his care and development, later his education and training.’

‘But what will Anne think of that? You will have to tell her who he is.’

‘Yes, I know that. But she will understand, I am sure. She will realise that I knew other women before I decided to marry her.’

‘But another woman’s child? A bastard? Will she accept him, do you think, in her home? And what about when she gets children of her own?’

‘She is a kind and good-hearted woman and loves children. I do not see there will be any real problem. And if she does object, then I will have to persuade her that it is the right thing to do. She must accept him. The boy stays near me from now on.’

The Duchess Cecily, Fotheringhay
Castle, 1472

My Dear Richard,

I was so very sorry to hear about the fate of poor Kate. But it was a foolish thing she did, having that village abortion. They very often go wrong and the girls die. Now I realise what she was referring to when she told me she wanted to go home ‘to get the help she needed’. I thought she was referring to her mother’s care when her time came. If she had told me what was in her mind, I know of doctors skilled in that kind of thing—not that I have ever used one—whose hands she would have been safe in, I am sure. Still, she was probably too ashamed to admit to me that she wished such a thing—after all, it is a mortal sin, according to the Church’s teachings. But desperate people do desperate things. If the baby had been conceived by someone she cared for, the outcome would probably have been very different.

But now you have a very happy time ahead! Your wedding at Eastertime on 22 April!

It is a pity that it is in London, as I will be unable to attend it, owing to my present poor health and the journey is too long for me now, even in good spring weather, I am afraid. But my thoughts and prayers will be with you, you know that.

You must bring your new bride to see me as soon as you can after the wedding. I would like to get to know her. And the little boy John. I miss him a lot. It is good to have young ones round the place! I hope he is happy at Pontefract with his nurse to care for him. You tell me Anne has agreed to have him with you at Middleham when you go there to live after the wedding. As you said, she is very good to accept another woman’s child, particularly as she knows you loved Kate dearly too.

I was very angry to hear how implacable George has been about the Neville lands. I agree that he is of an avaricious and difficult nature. It is a pity, but he has always relied on his charm to get him through everything! But he must not be allowed to get his way in this matter. You and Anne deserve your share—it is her inheritance after all. I pity her poor mother, the Countess of Warwick. It is surely unfair that she has been stripped of all her inheritance because her husband was attainted! I can understand she cannot be very happy having to live in sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey with no one but ascetic monks to converse with, especially after being used to living a life of luxury. But I can see why Edward sent her there, even if none of what her husband did was her fault. He had to be seen to make an example, to deter others from turning traitor!

Well, I will write again soon, and meanwhile, may God go with you, my dear son.

Your loving mother,

Cecily, Duchess of York

Anne, Middleham Castle, Yorkshire, Summer, 1472

At last I can breathe fresh air again! My chest feels better for it already, and my annoying cough has lessened since arriving here. Thank God I am away from that fetid heat in London and that dreadful, perpetual stink from the Thames! Plague is rife there too, as it usually is in summer. I am more than glad to leave London and the court behind, even though I had only been there a short time since our wedding at Easter. I am worried for Richard, who has to stay there for the moment, being caught up against his will in this eternal wrangling with his greedy brother, George of Clarence, for the Neville inheritance. It is really my mother’s—at least until her death—when Isabel and I should inherit jointly, but my mother was stripped of all her estates when my father was attainted as a traitor, and then George appropriated everything. She still resides quietly at Beaulieu Abbey, dependent on charity.

George will not release even part of what he holds without a terrible struggle, I know, if at all. He argues interminably on so-called points of law in his defence in the king’s court. Richard is hard put to it to fight his side of it in my defence. George holds on tooth and nail! Richard is only trying to get from him my rightful portion of the huge inheritance—half of what my father owned.

The King is sick of George and his never-ending importuning—he seems to present a new reason to back up his claim for rightful ownership every day, it seems! He can afford to pay the top lawyers in the country to fight on his side too! We are all sick of it equally—except George, of course! I feel Edward will say, ‘Enough is enough!’ any moment now and make an arbitrary decision, just to end it! The lawyers are becoming richer while this goes on, and the king objects to that. It pays them to keep it all continuing—so they do not mind. Whether George is satisfied has become irrelevant any more to the king—he just wants it to stop! So does Richard, so he can come home to me at Middleham. Far too much precious time has been wasted on this matter.

George really has the most avaricious, unpleasant nature, yet on the surface, he is so utterly charming and can get away with anything. And he hates Richard now, mainly out of jealousy, I think, as he has always been Edward’s favourite brother. So he carries on this litigation, not only for what he can get out of it, but for the sake of it—to get one better over Richard, if he can. What George wants, George gets—has always got! But not this time, if Richard has anything to do with it. He has an infinitely better mind than George and will match every point of law he may present!

It is not as if George needs any more riches or lands—he has enormous possessions already—far more than Richard. The king has always been far too generous to him.

I pray it all ends soon and Richard can come home to me. I miss him so, and I have some exciting and joyous news to impart to him!

I was only certain of it a short while ago, so have told no one yet, not even my ladies. I want Richard to be the first to hear that he is to be a father next spring!

I have longed for the moment when I can make him happy with this news. Like most men, he desires a son most dearly as his first-born, to be his heir, and I pray to God every day now, most earnestly, that the child will be a boy.

I already try to be a mother, as well as I can, to this poor little child, John, brought to me by a very distressed Richard from Pontefract Castle, where he had been lodging with his good nurse, Ruth, since his mother died in such tragic circumstances. I felt nothing but sorrow at Kate’s sad tale, when Richard recounted it to me and understood entirely why Richard wanted him to live with us, now that we at last have a real home of our own here at Middleham. I always realised that there must have been other women for Richard before he decided he wanted to marry me. That was inevitable. A man has his needs. And the child is an innocent victim of terrible circumstances. Richard has nicknamed him John of Pomfret and loves him dearly. I am growing to love him also. He is a beautiful, healthy child and seems to have taken to me too!

I am glad I am away from the court, so full of degeneracy and excess, where that vicious Hastings dominates the king so completely, as do the queen’s equally degenerate sons, who brought about poor Kate’s downfall.

Women suffer so for the casual wickedness of men such as these—it has always been so. It is a sad fact of life.

Henry Tudor, Hammes Castle, Brittany, Late Autumn, 1472

My Uncle Jasper has always been my mainstay and supporter, and he still is. Without him, I would, no doubt, long since have been dead. Since I was a small boy, he has made sure of my safety, whether near or far.

We have stayed together at Duke Francis’s Court in Brittany and now in Hammes Castle, but things have changed. Imperceptibly at first, but now, quite inexplicably, the duke has separated us. No explanation has been given to me. But I suspect it is as a direct result of King Edward’s constant demands to have me returned to England.

Perhaps Duke Francis thinks that without Uncle Jasper, I am in safer custody here? For in custody, I certainly am. I realised that long since. Without my uncle, I cannot escape and the duke has a better hold on each of us. Also, my own servants and bodyguards have been taken away and replaced by surly Breton men who hardly speak a word of English. It is almost impossible to communicate with them, and if I try to question them, they just turn away.

It is an unpleasant and worrying development. I no longer feel at all secure here. In fact, I feel very disturbed—even afraid. And very lonely. Perhaps Francis intends to send me back to Edward very soon?

Perhaps he has been persuaded at last—with bribes which he could not ignore? I try to think what the king could have offered him for letting me go now? Up to now, he has resisted all attempts—and I know there have been many—to give me up to the English king. Uncle Jasper has always kept me up to date on Edward’s efforts. Maybe they have made a pact of some kind? Who knows? No one tells me anything. I can only guess at what is going on.

I am still allowed to go out hunting sometimes and to exercise in the gardens or to ride—but never without these unpleasant Bretons. I have the freedom of the castle, but there are guards on all the doors, so I cannot leave alone. I have asked to see Duke Francis, but to no avail. The duke used to visit me regularly until recently, when Uncle Jasper was here. But not any more. I do not even know where they have taken my uncle.

Daily, I grow more afraid. For—in effect—I am a prisoner—I do not even get the regular letters from my Lady mother any more. I could rely on those, whatever else happened. In fact, I began to grow tired of them, with their constant exhortations to look to my so-called wonderful future and put up with the present with that in mind! Now, I would give anything to get one. They are obviously keeping them from me. Nor have I heard from Uncle Jasper. Everything has come to a standstill.

I cannot sleep, worrying what the morrow will bring. Any day, I expect to be taken in custody by force to the coast and there put on a ship to England.

Margaret Beaufort, Woking Old Hall, Christmas, 1472

My Dear Henry,

At last, Duke Francis has relented and allowed us to communicate once more. I complained bitterly to him about his ban on us sending letters to each other! When I received no answers from you from several of my previous regular letters, I realised something was wrong and wrote to him most forcefully on the matter—particularly objecting to what is your virtual imprisonment. I am glad he kept them and let you have them at last. Your Uncle Jasper told me how he had been separated from you and that your own men and servants were also taken away and replaced by Bretons. You must have felt very isolated indeed. I think the duke wishes to ensure that you cannot escape, as you are such a valuable bargaining tool to him. I know that King Edward continues to pester him to have you released and sent back to England. I am not so sure that is such a good thing now. I do not trust his motives at all. Perhaps you are better where you are for the moment, though I know you long to be free. At least you are safe from Edward’s possible underhand plans. If you were sent back to England, I would not be at all surprised if he had you killed. He realises that you could be a definite threat to him!