Queen by Right (57 page)

“That’s my proud Priam,” Richard cooed. “That is how to bring down the weak.”

Cecily wondered to whom her husband was really referring but she smiled and also praised the bird.

“Your turn, Cis,” Richard said, after securing the tie again. “What thinks Master Taggett of this new bird?”

“She is not as fast as Nimuë, in truth,” Cecily replied, stroking her merlin’s glossy feathers. “But she is young and her aim is true. Ah, now I hear a lark-song.” She saw the brown-streaked skylark soaring, hovering, and singing fifty paces from them, and just as expertly as Richard had done, she let her bird loose. “Go, brave Niniane, and find your mark.”

“Niniane?” Richard asked, watching the graceful merlin soar high above the unsuspecting trilling skylark.

“’Tis another name for Nimuë, but do not tell her so. She has a very different character,” Cecily answered, smiling across at her husband and remembering the day long ago when he had taken her to the mews at Windsor. “My sweet Nimuë was the best of all your gifts to me, Richard, save our children.”

The lark was caught and Niniane at once dropped with her prey to the ground. She was recalled by her mistress, while a huntsman ran to inspect the lark. He held it up by its tiny legs and proclaimed it masterfully killed. Cecily stroked the merlin and murmured endearments to it. “We shall need several more like that ere we can make a pie, my dearest.”

“I should like to make a pie myself—out of the vultures on the council awaiting my demise,” Richard said, and Cecily was relieved to see him neigh heartily at his own joke.

Richard was still laughing with Piers when the sound of galloping hooves
caught their attention. Roger Ree came to a well-controlled halt in front of the duke. Bowing in his saddle, he thrust a letter at Richard.

“The messenger told me to deliver it without delay, my lord,” he said. “’Tis from my lord of Salisbury.”

Richard gave Piers his falcon to hold and tore open the missive.

“Christ’s nails! Gascony is lost! Aquitaine is lost! Talbot is killed, as is his son, at Castillon. Bordeaux is threatened and Charles has taken most of Aquitaine for France.”

“Talbot killed?” Cecily repeated, half to herself. “Why, the man was eighty if he was a day! ’Tis a wonder he could even carry a sword. Somerset must have sent him again. ’Tis monstrous.”

“He was one of our greatest commanders, my lady,” Richard corrected her. “If he could not hold Aquitaine, then no one could. But you are right to blame Somerset for this. Perhaps now the king will see reason and impeach him, but I doubt it. All that England has fought to win back in France for more than a hundred years is now lost. And I was powerless to prevent it. God’s nails, what a sorry day this is!”

Knowing Richard would have no heart for hunting now, Cecily sighed, turned her horse around, and headed for home. Her first thought was to ask the Virgin for help, certain this news might rouse Richard to more rebellion. She took herself straight to the ducal chapel and spent an hour on her knees thinking on England’s losses and recalling the battles her father, her siblings, and her husband had fought in her lifetime. It was all for naught, she mused sadly. All those lives lost, all that land ravaged—and for what? She profoundly regretted the loss of France, but secretly in her heart she rejoiced. Was the conflict in France finally ended? Dear God, let us hope men will see sense and there will be no more war, no more fighting, no more killing. She prayed her own sons would never have to take up arms against others but lead quiet, sober and happy lives on their estates with their families.

“Just as Richard and I can now do,” she murmured, dreaming. “With Margaret about to give Henry an heir”—she refused to think it might be a girl—“and no war to wage in France, we can live out our lives in peace.”

But she was not naive enough to believe her dream. She had lived through enough turmoil to know that men like Richard and Somerset were never content to rest idle on their estates. Ambition has its price, she thought, and I have learned that to my cost. All I can do is support my husband and protect my children. And, with God’s help, we shall prevail.

Sobered by the thought, she rose, bent her knee to the altar, and went in search of Constance.

A
S
C
ECILY HAD
suspected, peace was not to be.

Less than a month later, the lookout on the castle gatehouse peered down in the gathering darkness and called, “Who goes there?”

“The lord Richard, earl of Salisbury. Open the gate!” Richard Neville’s herald shouted back.

The winch for the iron portcullis slowly raised the heavy gate, screeching loudly as the chains ground around the wooden wheel. Grooms ran alongside the horsemen ready to help the earl’s party as it entered the courtyard.

Richard and Cecily were in the gardens, enjoying a game of hoodman blind with their children in the last of the evening light, when Cecily’s brother joined them.

“God’s greeting to you all, and I apologize for the intrusion so late in the day, Sister, but I have important, troubling news.”

As Nurse Anne herded the children along the path and back to their apartments, Richard grasped Neville’s arm and drew Cecily close. “What is it, Brother?” he asked, frowning.

Richard of Salisbury took a deep breath, looking about him to make sure they were alone. “The king has been taken ill. Not of his body but of his mind. It seems Henry has lost his wits. He has succumbed to a fit of apoplexy,” he said slowly and deliberately, satisfied with the shocked reaction he was eliciting. “Aye, ’tis true,” he assured the gap-mouthed couple. “He knows no one and he says nothing. He simply sits staring vacantly at the wall. My man at court rode hard to inform me of the turn of events. It appears Henry has been this way for a fortnight already.”

A worried frown furrowing Richard’s pale face, he waved his hand toward the castle. “Come, my lord, let us go inside. The rest can wait until you have had some refreshment.”

“W
HO KNOWS OF
this besides the council?” Richard asked later as Salisbury downed a cup of ale and tackled a haunch of cold venison.

Spearing a choice piece of meat on his knife’s point, Salisbury answered, “Only the closest circle and, certes, the queen. Praise be, the court is at Clarendon. If this had happened in Westminster . . .”

“The whole of London would know by now,” Richard finished, nodding.
“Aye, the fewer of us who are informed the better. What say the doctors? How long will this last?”

Salisbury shrugged. “They know not, Brother. It came without warning. One moment he was himself, the next his eyes fixed on the wall and his limbs would not move. They must carry him to and from his bed, to the privy—’tis as though he froze like the grasses in winter.” He savored the venison, smacking his lips and chewing noisily. “All are in shock.”

Richard shook his head, his expression grave. “What does this mean for England?” he murmured almost to himself. “That Somerset rules?”

Richard Neville almost spat his meat out in response. “Never fear, my lord, as long as I am on the council, Somerset will not rule. But it would be imprudent to let the people know the king is indisposed. Their anger against Somerset, whom they blame for the loss of France, would know no bounds. It would not take much to cause rioting.”

“Would they think Henry was driven to madness by the loss of France, Richard?” Cecily asked and relished a nod of approval from her elder brother. “Aye, I can see why Somerset might feel threatened now. Perhaps we should spread the word,” she said, half joking. “What would be so wrong with that?”

Richard’s response was as she expected. “’Tis treason, that is what, Cis,” Richard retorted. “Besides it would be wrong for the realm. Aye, it is right no one should know. If God is merciful, the king may recover tomorrow; one can never tell. And what of the queen? She would back Somerset if he moved to take control.”

Salisbury grunted. “’Tis as well that she must soon be confined for the birth, where she cannot be of influence. But although Somerset has her ear, he can do nothing without the council’s sanction.”

“And if this malady drags on?” Cecily asked. “Surely someone must act as regent in the king’s place.”

She saw her brother flash a surreptitious glance Richard’s way, but he said nothing. Pray God you find a voice, Brother, she wanted to remark. Are you firmly for Richard or not?

“All will come clearer when the queen is brought to bed,” her husband said. “If Henry has an heir then a regent must be named, and like as not ’twill be between me and Somerset. If it is a girl, then one of us must be made heir apparent. Cast out as I am now, I cannot know the council’s mind, Neville. But I tell you this. I will not stand by and allow Somerset to keep me from my rightful place.”

Cecily closed her eyes tightly, looked down at her lap, and prayed for Henry’s recovery.

“Come with me on the morrow to the council in London, Richard,” the earl said, retrieving a stringy piece of meat from between two teeth. “They would know if you are willing to take the reins, should the vote go your way. You do not want them to believe you have no interest.”

C
ECILY WATCHED AS
Richard was dressed for the two-day ride to London by two of his gentlemen. The weather had been fine for a week, and the harvest was successfully reaped, the hooded stooks neatly arrayed in rows in the fields to allow the late summer sun to ripen any green grain fully. Soon the harvest helpers would return to their villages, their work done for the season. Later, as summer turned to autumn, the wheat for the castle would be stored in the barns for threshing.

Richard had chosen to wear a plain knee-length, black damask cloak-tunic, albeit trimmed with gold braiding, to mark the serious nature of his meeting with the council. “I wish them to know I am mourning the loss of our sovereign’s sanity, Cis.”

Cecily affixed one of her brooches to the front of his hat.

“For a safe journey, my lord,” she told him, standing back to admire him. She nodded to Richard’s gentlemen in approval. “I thank you, sirs.” They bowed, leaving the duke and duchess alone.

Richard cocked his head at his wife now, knowing well that she had had a reason for dismissing his servants.

“How now, Cis. Will you chastise me for not coming to you last night? I know I broke with our tradition, but a week in London does not constitute a true parting.”

Cecily shook her head. “I lay awake for a time, ’tis true, but it was not to find ways to make you feel guilty. In truth, I could not get the image of Henry’s inert state out of my mind. And I began to think back on those times when I was in his presence and how at each one I noticed little instances of odd behavior. Do you remember in Rouen when he suddenly loosed laughter that frightened both of us?” Richard nodded slowly, recalling the incident well. “We remarked upon it afterward, remember? And then I cast my mind back to one of the first occasions I saw him. ’Twas at the banquet after your knighting at Leicester. I saw him stop midway between taking a mouthful—like this—and stare unblinking at nothing in particular. I swear he disappeared
into a place that was not in this world. It lasted for all but a moment, but it was curious, nonetheless.”

Richard stroked his beard, thinking. “Do you know that Queen Catherine’s father went mad? King Charles never recovered, so I heard. They say such a thing may run in a family.”

He picked up his silver-hilted dagger and placed it in its sheath, then turned to embrace her. “Come, kiss me, Cecily. If I stay in London longer, I will send for you.”

B
UT HE WAS
gone only a few days.

The lookout on the gatehouse tower alerted the castle to the duke’s return, and grooms and pages appeared from nowhere and ran to greet the returning riders. Waving happily, Cecily made her way through the private entrance in the inner ward to greet her husband in the courtyard. Richard kissed her hand briefly before taking her arm in his and leading her up the staircase to their solar. He had barely said two words, but from the grim set of his mouth, Cecily knew something was amiss.

“Somerset attempted to sway the council to deny my attendance, and when I saw that I must flatter and cajole my way into the meeting, I refused to demean myself,” he told her, pacing up and down the room, his strong chin leading him and his spurs jangling on the tiled floor. “Have I not been humiliated enough? I left immediately.”

Cecily was aghast. “I cannot believe the council would exclude you, Richard. You are the highest ranking duke in the realm. My brother said they must include you in their plans to govern while Henry is indisposed. Has Somerset so much influence? ’Tis hard to believe.”

Richard turned, clearly exasperated. “He still has the king’s protection, Cis. And he is Margaret’s favorite. The council dare not defy him. God’s bones, but I thought I had your brother and his whelp Warwick on my side. Together with Norfolk, they should have had enough influence to sway the others and warrant my being accepted, but they wavered.”

Cecily was at a loss. She could not defend her brother, and she would have liked to give him a piece of her mind. She watched her husband slump onto a stool and attempt to remove his spurs and boots. She went to his side and knelt down to help him, and then she came to a decision.

“I shall write to the queen,” she declared. “And, nay, do not gainsay me this, Richard. I believe she considers me her friend—despite my choice of
husband,” she joked and stroked his leg. She did not tell him of Margaret’s suggestion at Walsingham: I will do what I can for you.” She would not raise his hopes. And indeed, she was unsure if the queen even meant what she had said. But it was worth trying. “As I have said before, if women were to run the kingdom, there would be far less fighting and a lot more talking. Let me at least write to her, my love.”

Richard cupped her chin in his hand and gave her a reluctant smile. “I feel better already, if that is possible. And if you would write on my behalf, I shall not stop you, although with Margaret so close to birthing, I know not how it will help.” He kissed her and stood, stretching. “I swear I thank God for you daily, Cecily Neville.”