Queen by Right (69 page)

She heard the cock crow and that sound brought her to the present and chased the nightmares away. She was thinking clearly now. Throwing on her heavy shawl and her soft leather shoes, she sidled past Gresilde and Constance, asleep on their truckle beds, and slipped out of the door. She ran along the passageway to the gallery of the great hall, not daring to look down and remember the earlier scene. She wanted to feel the fresh air on her face and look across the walls of the town and the Teme to see whether the king was still there. Perhaps he too had slipped away in the night, she thought hopefully. But once on the high ramparts, she knew it had been a false hope.

In the pale dawn, she could see men from the front lines of the king’s army hurrying back and forth to the abandoned fortified trench. Then mounted men galloped to it, and she could hear surprised shouting and a trumpet fanfare, waking the rest of the camp. What would happen now? she wondered. Would they just leave? It was quite clear to any clodpoll that there was no one to do battle with. She could see from her perch that the streets of Ludlow were also deserted and the shutters were closed on all the houses. Only the bell of St. Lawrence gave proof that anyone was alive in the town.

It was not long before she saw the first line of soldiers beginning to clamber through the trench and to remove the sacks, carts, and other barricade debris left by the Yorkists. It was then that Cecily realized that once the floodgate
was opened to this trickle of trouble, there would be nothing to stop Henry’s army from rushing through the breach, crossing the big meadow, and entering the town. Would he, in fact, attack an undefended town? Perhaps not, but she could not take that chance. Her pulse began to race and she ran back down the stairs.

“Arouse the boys and dress them quickly,” she ordered Nurse Anne, who simply curtseyed and obeyed without question.

Next she ran to Margaret’s chamber and told Beatrice to dress her young mistress and attend her in the great hall as soon as she could. Then it was her turn to have Gresilde and a tiring woman dress her in her magnificent blue gown, quickly braid her hair, and push it under her tallest hennin. Hooking the gold clasp of her purple velvet mantle about her shoulders, Cecily stood back to appraise her appearance in the mirror. “My sapphire necklace, Gresilde. Hurry!” she commanded. Whatever happened to her, she would not go without her mother’s precious gift. “And wrap as many of my jewels as you can into bundles for you and the other ladies to carry hidden in your sleeves. If the castle is plundered, we shall not leave them much to gloat over.”

Frightened though they were, the attendants took their cue from their indomitable mistress and did her bidding without hesitation.

Already there was pandemonium in the streets of Ludlow when Cecily and her ladies made their way swiftly to the great hall. Shouts and screams could be heard in the distance. The three children were already waiting for her. Dickon was clutching Nurse Anne’s skirts.

“Where is Constance?” Cecily barked, looking among the cringing servants for her favorite companion. “Dear God, do not tell me she has already gone to tend the wounded left behind.”

Beatrice nodded. “I tried to stop her, your grace, but she said there was one poor lad who was close to death and she wanted to pray with him.”

Cecily spotted Piers Taggett calming a whimpering pageboy and called to him. “Master Taggett, be so kind as to go and find Doctor LeMaître. She is somewhere in the lodgings given over to the wounded by the Postern Tower. Go quickly!” Piers, who had armed himself with a sword the night before to protect his beloved duchess, strode from the hall in search of the physician.

Cecily called her boys to her but stayed Margaret. She knelt between them and smiled encouragingly. “Are you ready to embark on an adventure, my sons?”

George smiled back, nodding his head vigorously, but Dickon looked
skeptical. “An adventure, Mam? What kind of adventure? I do not like all that yelling and screaming. What is happening? And where is Father—and Ned and Edmund?”

“They have gone on their own adventure, Dickon. They will tell you all about it when next you see them, and you will be able to tell your story. Now, I need you to listen carefully.” Seeing Dickon’s face relax a little, she told them what she wanted them to do. They listened wide-eyed. “Do you think you can be brave with me?” she finished, and was dismayed to see tears in Dickon’s eyes and fear in George’s.

“Gresilde, Beatrice, and the other ladies, I pray you take charge of Lady Margaret and walk a few paces behind me. There will be no guards, no men at all about us.” As imperiously as she could, she eyed the men and boys who remained, for they must obey her or pay with their lives, she knew. “I pray my actions will have the desired effect, but I give you leave to go—hide yourselves or run. I fear the queen’s army will not be merciful to you. I thank you for loyal service to the duke and me, and God be with you all.”

“God bless Duchess Cecily!” an old man cried, and suddenly the room was filled with shouts of “A York! A York!” and the hairs on Cecily’s neck rose as she took her sons by the hand and started for the door.

Piercing screams and sounds of horsemen and metal on metal were closer now. She gripped the boys more tightly but kept on walking. Seeing that she meant to leave the castle, the two guards manning the portcullis heaved up the grille far enough for the little group to pass under it into the outer bailey before letting it fall behind them. The portcullis might keep out the enemy coming from the town, Cecily realized, but not from the duke’s private door in the back of the castle. She could hear from the sound of loud thuds and splintering wood that a group of soldiers had discovered that entry after crossing the Teme by the Dinham Bridge. Just in time the portcullis was lowered behind the duchess as the inner bailey was breached and soon crawling with soldiers looking for valuables to steal and Yorkists to skewer and rape.

With a sinking heart, Cecily saw that the gates to the inner bailey from the town had been flung wide and men were pouring in, intent on plunder. Horses were running wildly to and fro as stable doors were wrenched open by the looting soldiers and firebrands thrown in. The few grooms left were pulled out of their hiding places or those who ran from the flames were caught, and all were stabbed to death in cold blood. Bile rose in her throat, and Cecily wanted to turn and run, but she kept on walking, telling her sons to stare at their feet
and never look up. She could hear a couple of the women behind her whimpering and another babbling prayers.

Suddenly a terrible cry reached them from the inner bailey behind the portcullis. Cecily flinched. It was a woman’s scream. Who was left? she thought, knowing that she had ordered all the women to follow her. And then she remembered.

“Constance!” She uttered the name as though she had been stabbed. “Oh, no, sweet Virgin, not Constance.” The urge to turn back and run to her attendant’s aid was overwhelming, but she had to think of her charges—her sons, her daughter, and the other women counting on her. Perhaps it is not she. Perhaps Piers found her in time. But a cold sweat ran down her back as another scream rent the air followed by ribald laughter. Nay, this time she knew she was right. The damnable cowards were violating Constance, her dearest friend, her companion who had asked for nothing but to serve her mistress and her God faithfully, and there was nothing Cecily could do about it. Please, God, let her die quickly was her only prayer, but another shriek of terror rose from the victim, making Meg put her hands over her ears. Then Cecily froze when she heard the last desperate plea, before Constance’s voice was finally silenced:
“Mon Dieu, mon dieu, aidez moi. Jésu, Jé—”
In her mind Cecily was suddenly back at the marketplace in Rouen, hearing another such cry to her Savior.

A soldier spat on George. “York’s whelp,” he sneered. But he did not lay a hand on him. George stared straight ahead and slowly wiped the spittle from his cheek, earning a “Good boy” from his mother. “You are York’s
son.
Be proud of it.”

She was aware now that Dickon was crying hard, and she squeezed his hand. “Walk on, my sons,” she said hoarsely, forcing tears back. Her thoughts were all of Constance. Dear Constance, she grieved. She died giving succor to the wounded. May you wing swiftly to Heaven,
ma fidèle amie,
for you were a saint upon this earth. She called on her heavenly mentor then. Have you forsaken me, Holy Mother? Could you not have protected poor Constance? And Richard, where are you when we need you most?

They were halfway across the wide castle green when Cecily became aware that her daring plan was working, for the soldiers were stopping their pillage to stare at her. She could smell smoke and see flames from at least one house down the hill, and she murmured a prayer for the victims. At once all around her went quiet, and the soldiers fell back to let her pass as she approached
the broken main gate. She had hoped to meet one of the king’s commanders before now and surrender herself and her women to the king, but the foot soldiers appeared to have no leaders. Yet, now that she had begun this march, she could not turn back.

The men were shoving each other to gawp at the regal woman processing through their midst as if on her way to a coronation and seemingly oblivious of the carnage or the danger around her while clasping the hands of two little boys, one bravely staring at the ground and the other sobbing.

“It be York’s duchess,” one filthy soldier told a fellow billman. “It be proud Cis, I’ll be bound. By all that is holy, she’s got pluck.” Pluck? Cecily thought, amazed. How can they not see my fear, my faltering steps, the cold sweat running down my back. But the word gave her strength and she walked on.

Others roughly elbowed their way to the front of the mob to get a view of the imposing woman robed in blue velvet, her hennin towering above her. Mostly there was silence, but Cecily did hear one low whistle of admiration and another disgusting sucking sound that chilled her. It was then that she had a curious sensation that she was not alone, that someone else was walking a step ahead of her and parting the menacing soldiers. She blinked twice as her gaze fell on a glowing figure carrying a cross. The brilliant white light upon the vision flooded Cecily, too, making her gasp.

“Jeanne?” she whispered, putting her hand out to touch the light. “Jeanne d’Arc?”

George glanced up at his mother anxiously. “What did you say, Mother?”

As soon as Cecily looked down at her boy’s handsome face, the vision vanished, but her courage had returned. With certainty she believed that the Virgin had sent Jeanne to guide her steps. Her head high, she put one foot in front of the other and kept walking out into the marketplace praying someone in authority would arrive. There was such an unearthly aura about the duchess now that none dared touch her. She felt invincible, as though she had heavenly protection, and the trembling left her legs.

She bent to whisper to Dickon, “You are a brave boy.” He looked up at her with Richard’s eyes and managed a wobbly smile.

With her thoughts still focused on Jeanne d’Arc, Cecily could now understand the Maid’s terror on her walk to death. How long could she fend off these bloodthirsty men? she thought, her fear mounting. She had no idea where she was going. And then she saw the market cross and believed Jeanne had led her footsteps there. She prayed that being in its shadow would protect her.

Now that their initial awe had dissipated, the crowd of armed and bloodied soldiers began taunting the women and closing in on Cecily, who was mounting the steps to the base of the cross. Her ladies and Meg filled the area behind her, facing the crowd. Emulating Cecily’s proud carriage, they defied anyone to come near them. It seems they have complete faith in my ability to protect them, Cecily realized with trepidation. But what do I do now? she asked herself, her knees finally beginning to give out. If these ruffians decide to charge us, they will show no mercy. She stared haughtily at the band of filthy men encircling her and noted they were all wearing the swan badge of Prince Edouard. So ’tis the queen who has allowed her men to plunder Ludlow so savagely, she thought angrily. How cruel an enemy she is, but even worse, she has no compassion for her subjects.

The crowd began to shift to allow approaching horsemen to ride into the marketplace, and it was then Cecily saw King Henry. He sat astride a caparisoned destrier far more warlike than its rider, who was not even in armor but was wearing his crown. Perhaps he has been told that his queen had allowed her soldiers to pillage the town, Cecily surmised quickly, and perhaps the peace-loving king had come to try and stop it. He did not approve of punishing his own subjects in this way, Richard had told Cecily, and it was partly because of this knowledge that Richard and his council had thought it might be safer that she stay and submit to the king rather than attempt to flee across the country to Fotheringhay alone with three young children. She hoped he had been right for the sake of those with her and the innocent townsfolk, condemned for living on Yorkist lands.

Reining in his mount, Henry gazed in horror at the scene of devastation in the marketplace. And then he saw Cecily. Holding up his hand for the crowd to stop their whistles and catcalls, he approached the stone cross and looked down at the duchess of York, beautiful still and richly garbed, standing like some ancient goddess courageously facing a hundred armed men as she clutched the hands of her two youngest sons. He bowed in his saddle and put his hand over his heart.

“Duchess Cecily, we greet you well. This meeting is indeed unexpected and most distressing to me. Why are you alone? Have you been hurt?” he asked with concern.

Cecily descended the few steps to the cobblestones and fell to her knees before him. Dickon, not wishing to be parted from his mother for a second, followed her, and George knelt where he stood.

“Your grace, your most noble majesty, I am at your mercy. I am indeed alone, as you can see. My lord of York is gone,” Cecily told Henry, her voice faltering, “and thus there is no need for fighting.” She felt disloyal in implying that her husband had deserted her, but to protect her family and her women she had no choice. “There are naught but my children and my attendants left here. And one has been cruelly abused and I fear slain by your soldiers. I beg you to spare the rest of us and spare the good people of Ludlow.” She raised her luminous eyes to his and found herself shivering. She had no idea how long her walk from the great hall to this place had taken, but it had seemed to her that it might have taken her whole life. A light drizzle had begun to fall, and the wetness on her upturned face, whether rain or tears, moved Henry greatly.