Succession (28 page)

Soon after [the Battle of Blore Heath], the Duke of York, and the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury, assembled an army of 25,000 near Worcester. The king and his lords, with 40,000 men arrayed for war and banner unfurled, advanced towards them.

John Benet’s Chronicle

 

The Duke of York made a great deep ditch and fortified it with guns, carts and stakes, but his party was weaker for the king had 30,000 harnessed men, and others not armed but compelled to come with the king.

Gregory’s Chronicle

 

My Lord of Warwick drew up his forces putting Andrew Trollope to lead the vanguard, because he trusted him more than he trusted anyone else. [But] this Andrew had received news by a secret message from the Duke of Somerset, which rebuked him because he was coming to wage war against the king his sovereign lord, saying as well that the king had proclaimed among his host that all who were adherents to the opposing party but wished to return to serve the king would receive both great rewards and a pardon for everything. Then Andrew Trollope secretly went to the members of the Calais garrison …

Jean de Waurin

 

At Ludlow Field Andrew Trollope with many of the old soldiers of Calais departed secretly from the Duke of York’s party to the king’s party and there showed the secret plans of the duke his lord …

London Chronicle

 

Then the Duke of York and the other lords, seeing themselves so deceived, took counsel briefly the same night and departed from the field, leaving behind most of their people …

Brut Chronicle

 

The king’s gallants at Ludlow when they had drunk enough of wine in the taverns full ungodly smote off the pipes and hogsheads of wine, so that men went wetshod in wine and then robbed the town bare, carrying away bedding, clothes and other stuff, and they defouled many women …

Gregory’s Chronicle

 

The duke fled to Wales breaking down the bridges after him that the king’s men should not come after.

Gregory’s Chronicle

 

… then the Duke of York, with his second son, departed through Wales towards Ireland, leaving his eldest son, the Earl of March, with the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury, who, together with three or four men, rode straight to Devonshire. There, by the help and aid of one Dinham, a squire, who secured a ship for them, they sailed to Guernsey, where they refreshed themselves, and thereafter to Calais.

Brut Chronicle

 

The king, in response … ravaged all the Duke of York’s lands between Worcester and Ludlow …

John Benet’s Chronicle

 

He was almost in tears, this messenger.

There had been no battle, he said, and her husband was gone, with her sons, taken ship and gone, and most of his men had submitted to the king. But the king’s men had run through the town and robbed it to the bare walls, destroying the houses, setting fire to barns and slaughtering cattle and pigs in the street, running to their knees in wine and blood. And they were heading for the castle now.

‘You must leave at once, my lady,’ he said.

There were not enough men left in the castle to fight. Many had already abandoned her, riding away on horses they had no business to ride. And she was left here, with her two youngest sons and her daughter, Margaret.

‘How should I leave?’ she said.

‘You must leave any way you can,’ he said. Already the outskirts of the town were blazing. There would be nothing left.

She nodded once, as if to herself. The king’s men, keyed up for battle and cheated of it, were running wild with the mindlessness of collective force. She could hear them already, like the roar of a distant sea. But behind this mindlessness was a deadly intent: that the people of Ludlow would never again place faith in the lord who had abandoned them. When the enemy came to the castle they would destroy it. She turned to her remaining servants.

‘You must leave now,’ she said, and her elderly steward started to protest but she interrupted him.

‘Take what you can and go.’

She turned to the messenger. ‘You also,’ she said.

There were many different exits from the castle, tunnels and hidden gateways.

‘See to it that everyone leaves,’ she said to her steward.

‘My lady – what will you do?’ her steward said.

‘Don’t think about me,’ she said. Then, in her most imperious tones, she added, ‘What are you waiting for? Go.’

No one disobeyed the duchess when she spoke in that way. The messenger was already leaving. The steward and one or two other servants began to remonstrate with her, but she said, ‘Look to yourselves. If anything remains afterwards you may return. Someone will be needed to repair the damage.’

And when they protested again she said, ‘Go. I will not leave until every last one of you is gone.’

And then at last they started to obey.

The duchess turned to her children, George, aged ten, Richard, seven, and Margaret, white-faced, a girl of thirteen.

‘Come with me,’ she said.

And Duchess Cecily took the hands of her two younger children and left the castle by the main gate, with her daughter following behind, to face the oncoming mob.

We ran like the berserkers of old, through fire and rivers of blood, floating carcasses and wreckage. No damage too great, no desecration left undone, and all the town behind us was a smoking ruin. It was as though a great jagged rift had appeared in our souls, unleashing monsters and demons. We drank and we ran, forgetting everything, including ourselves. And so we came to the marketplace.

And there she stood, a woman in her middle years, of middle height, bearing all the insignia of the House of York.

She stood by the market cross, holding the hands of two young boys, a fair and pretty girl clinging on behind. Flakes of soot and sparks flew all around them, but her voice rang out as we surged forward.

‘Take me to the Duke of Buckingham,’ she cried.

Three times she cried it, and all of us stopped short.

She could feel her daughter’s ragged breath on her neck, her youngest son quivering like a dog. Her elder son did not want to be seen holding his mother’s hand, but she held it nonetheless, tightly enough to stop the blood.

She fixed the foremost man with a piercing glare.

‘Where is the duke, your leader?’ she said. ‘Take me to him.’

‘We’ll take them all right,’ someone shouted, ‘one piece at a time,’ and there was a murmuring roar of approval. But she hooked her fierce gaze on to the man who instinct told her was a leader.

‘Take me to my brother the duke,’ she said. He understood, she
knew, the rules of war. And they knew who she was, of course. The Rose of Raby, sister-in-law to the Duke of Buckingham. And perhaps they knew they would be rewarded for taking her hostage. At any rate, as she continued to glare at their leader, they fell into a grudging silence. And the man turned to his fellows and raised his arms.

‘We have hostages,’ he said. And then he turned back. ‘You are our prisoner,’ he said.

‘Then you will provide me with an escort,’ she replied.

There was a flicker of appreciation in the man’s eyes. Then he turned to the crowd, holding up his sword, and said, ‘Stand back – all of you. You there – send word to the duke – we have hostages for him. You, you and you, stand guard – the rest of you fall back.’

Grumbling and reluctant, the crowd made way. Then Cecily Neville and her children stepped forward and men raised their swords to clear a path, yet the crowd still jostled them as they passed.

The Duchess of York with her children was sent to the Lady of Buckingham, her sister, where she was kept long after …

Brut Chronicle

 

It seemed a long time since she had seen her son.

Sometimes she woke feeling the imprint of a small body near her heart; the pressure of his feet near her ribcage. She would lie awake for several moments worrying about him, wondering whether he was warm enough in the great castle, whether his stomach ached, whether he was awake now – if he had a bad dream, who would go to him?

Then she would get up quickly, even before it was light, and immerse herself in the affairs of her day.

She had set about her new estate zealously, seeing to it that walls were repaired, the marshy land on the border reclaimed and drained, the bridge moved further downstream and broadened and strengthened so that trade could pass.

And her husband, Henry, thought there should be a new mill. He had made a working model and drawn extensive, meticulous plans.

While she worked she was able to fend off thoughts about her son and everything she was missing: his first tooth, his first steps, his first words.

But sometimes, as now, it caught her so that she could do nothing at all. She could only stand still, as though she had forgotten how to move.

She stood by the window of her room. The late-autumn sunlight, though golden, had no heat in it. It flitted over the surfaces of leaves, turning them to a sharp green that was almost yellow then returning them to dullness, or changing the bare twigs from a blackish brown to a soft grey. She watched the play of colours as they came and went, came and went.

She didn’t hear her husband knock; only gradually became aware of him standing behind her, not quite close enough to touch.

‘My lady mother,’ he said, ‘has invited us to visit her.’

She moved her head a little. They had not visited the duchess since she had taken her sister Cecily into custody.

Her first impulse was to say that she did not want to go back into that household, but Henry continued to speak.

‘It occurred to me,’ he said, ‘that my father might also be there. If he is not with the king.’

She said nothing. She did not want to see the duke.

‘It is not impossible,’ he said, ‘that Pembroke would also come.’

Jasper. Who had not responded to any of her letters about her son. She turned slowly towards her husband.

‘Or at least,’ he continued, ‘that there would be news of him; that we would find out where he is.’

Hope flared in her, she couldn’t help it. ‘You think so?’ she said.

‘I cannot say for sure.’

‘But – if we found out where he was – would you come with me?’

He knew she was talking about her son. ‘I would,’ he said.

Her heart began to pound quite painfully.

‘We should set off soon, before the weather turns,’ he said, then paused. ‘Will you come to eat now?’

She hadn’t eaten at all that day. ‘But there is so much to do,’ she said, looking round her room as if she would like to pack up everything right away. He nodded.

‘Even so, you must eat,’ he said.

They set out the following week, while the weather was still mild, though the rivers were running high and they were delayed more than once by a bridge that was broken and unsafe. Margaret sat impatiently in their carriage, thinking what a difference it would make if people were only made to maintain their property. How many battles might have ended differently if more people repaired their bridges and the roads?

She did not say this to Henry, who read most of the way. He
did not seem to want to discuss the forthcoming visit, or speculate about the presence of Duchess Cecily. He would only say that it was right to go now, while the war was going in the king’s favour, for once. He did not say that the opportunity might not come again.

She had realized that he was doing this for her sake; he had no especial desire to return home (‘I am not the son they wanted to survive,’ he had once said), so she was grateful to him, and tried not to disturb him with her impatience. Still, she could not help but envisage their arrival, and how the duke might be there, and Jasper with him, and what she would say.

But when they got there it was immediately obvious that they were the only guests. The duchess stood in the entrance, looking somewhat dishevelled, with a small group of servants behind her. There was no sign of Cecily, or the duke.

‘Is my father not here?’ Henry said as soon as they had greeted her.

‘Your father?’ said the duchess. ‘Who knows where he is? With the king, I expect. And likely to remain so for the foreseeable future.’

Margaret followed Henry into the house, feeling the full weight of disappointment.

The duchess ordered a servant to show them to their room, then immediately forgetting that she had done so, began to take them herself. She walked heavily, unevenly, complaining of the pain in her hip.

‘It’s the damp – it never lets up,’ she said over her shoulder.

Margaret would not look at Henry. It seemed to her that the whole trip was likely to be a complete waste of time.

‘… leaves me here in charge of my sister, of course,’ the duchess continued. ‘Expects me to keep her under lock and key. “Treat her well,” he tells me, “but keep her in close confinement. Do not let her leave. See to it that she has no visitors, and sends no messages to anyone.” As if anyone could ever tell Cecily what to do! Even as a little girl she was quite intractable – always has been.’

The duchess paused a little, out of breath, then rapped on a door.

‘Cecily,’ she called. ‘We will be eating soon.’

Silence. But Margaret thought she could hear movements from inside the room.

‘Did you hear me?’ said the duchess. ‘I said we will be eating shortly.’

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ came the response.

‘You will join us, of course.’

‘I do not think so.’

‘We have guests,’ said the duchess. ‘Your nephew and his wife. They are anxious to see you.’

‘This is not a zoo,’ the voice said, distinctly.

‘Well, suit yourself,’ said her sister, continuing along the corridor. ‘It might as well be a zoo,’ she said, turning to Margaret and Henry. ‘I feel as if I have been put in charge of a wild and stubborn beast … Here we are.’

She opened a door and stood beside it breathlessly as two servants struggled in with their trunks.

‘I will leave you to prepare for dinner, but don’t take too long – the cook gets in a fearful temper if we keep him waiting.’

They entered the room. It was pleasant enough, low-ceilinged with small windows. And in the centre there was a double bed.

At home she did not sleep with Henry. As soon as they had moved in she had claimed a separate room, and Henry had made no objection. Now he stood awkwardly beside the bed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

He was referring, of course, to the absence of his father, of Jasper. She didn’t look at him. ‘You weren’t to know,’ she said.

But you could have found out
, she thought, unfairly, perhaps. But now they were stuck here, perhaps for weeks if the weather changed. She turned to the first of their boxes and began unfastening it. She remembered the very first time she had met Jasper, when she had felt a crushing disappointment that he was there and not Edmund. And now she felt the same bitterness about his absence.

But there was no help for it; no help for anything at all.

‘I could write to him,’ Henry was saying.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, tugging roughly at the strap.

Less than an hour later they sat at the table with the Duchess Anne, while a steward served them a watery chicken soup.

‘It will be a very modest affair, I’m afraid,’ the duchess said in a low voice as though the steward could not hear her. ‘We have had such trouble getting supplies. Of course, you are near a market,’ she said to Margaret. ‘That makes all the difference.’

Margaret smiled wanly. The soup looked slightly viscous; there were globules of oil on its surface.

‘Are you all right?’ the duchess said suddenly. ‘You look very pale.’

Margaret glanced at Henry.

‘I think we were hoping,’ he said, ‘to hear some news of the little boy.’

‘Your son?’ said the duchess in surprise. ‘He is with his uncle, is he not?’

Margaret bowed her head. ‘We – do not get much news,’ she said. ‘And because of all the – disturbances – I have not been able to visit.’

‘But you may be sure that he is well taken care of,’ the duchess said, and then she added, almost slyly, ‘What you need is another little one, eh? Take your mind off the first.’

And to Margaret’s horror she leaned over and patted her stomach, which was almost concave; she could see her mother-in-law registering the fact that there was no child there.

But she was saved from responding by the arrival of the Duchess Cecily, whose wry tones preceded her down the stairs.

‘Am I too late for the feast?’

‘My lady sister,’ said the duchess with the same irony. ‘We are indeed honoured.’

The Duchess of York did not look like a prisoner, or like a woman whose husband would be indicted. She looked considerably more regal than her sister, though she wore a severe gown of grey and black. Turquoise stones glittered on her fingers and in her uncovered hair, of which, it was said, she was excessively proud.

Proud Cis – that was what they called her. The whole nation knew she had stopped a rampaging army in its tracks.

Henry rose to greet his aunt and Margaret rose too. Unsure of the etiquette – how did one behave before an imprisoned duchess? – she sank into a deep curtsy. Duchess Cecily barely acknowledged either of them. Margaret could feel her eyes assessing her dismissively, as people were wont to do, before sitting at the table to the left of her sister.

They looked alike; Margaret could see that now they were in such close proximity. They had a similar prettiness, though Henry’s mother looked much older than her sister when in fact there were not many years between them. And Cecily seemed somehow more composed. Duchess Anne was greying and unravelled, whereas Duchess Cecily looked as though none of the hairs on her head or the threads of her gown would ever dare to unravel.

The first thing she did was to send the soup back.

‘If I had wanted warm water I would have asked for it,’ she said.

Duchess Anne raised her eyes towards heaven. ‘My lady sister,’ she said, ‘imagines she is running this establishment.’

‘Whereas my lady sister,’ Cecily said, tasting the wine, ‘is rehearsing for a role as keeper of his majesty’s prisons. So, Henry,’ she added, abruptly changing the subject, ‘how have you been? Not too busy fighting battles, I hope.’

Henry flushed darkly, looking down.

‘He has been ill,’ Margaret said.

‘And do his illnesses coincide with the battles?’ Cecily enquired. ‘How inconvenient.’

‘At least,’ Henry’s mother said, ‘he did not desert his wife.’

‘No indeed,’ said Cecily. ‘Merely his king.’

In that moment Margaret conceived a strong dislike for the Duchess of York. She glanced at Henry, who was still staring in consternation at his plate, then back at the duchess, who was smiling faintly, enjoying the exchange. She took a breath.

‘My husband cannot help his illness,’ she said. ‘But my lady is right to suppose that even if he were well he would not see the point in engaging in fruitless warfare. And if more people thought
like him, the land would not be torn apart – father pitted against son, brother against brother and –’ she glanced quickly at them both – ‘sister against sister.’

They were silent; surprised perhaps, reappraising her.

‘I stand rebuked,’ Duchess Cecily said, giving her a narrow stare. Henry was now smiling at his soup.

More courses arrived and the atmosphere began to thaw. The food, though modest as Duchess Anne had said, was good and the wine flowed freely. Henry’s mother became voluble and told anecdotes of her childhood with Cecily, so that even her sister began to smile. She talked about their father, who had such a passion for hunting, despite his failing eyesight, that few people were willing to accompany him.

On one occasion, she said, he had heard there was a great white stag in the forest, and he was determined to shoot it. Their mother had said that he should not go; he would surely put an arrow in one of the servants.

‘I don’t care if I shoot all the servants!’ Anne cried in a deep voice. ‘I will bring home that stag!’

The Duchess Cecily joined in, imitating their mother. ‘If you shoot all the servants, Ralph, then the two of us will be alone. And then I will certainly have to shoot you!’

And they laughed together, the two sisters, briefly and gleefully, as if there were no differences between them at all.

Later, Margaret and Henry returned to their room. And to the bed they were to share, which seemed suddenly enormous. She stood and looked at it and did not know what to do. Henry stood also, equally embarrassed.

‘I shall go out, if you like,’ he said. ‘While you get ready.’

And so he left the room, and she stripped to her chemise, and got quickly into bed, occupying the least space she could manage on the furthermost edge.

And in a little while he joined her; she felt the weight of him on the mattress. He turned away from her so that they lay back to back, and in a relatively short time she heard his breathing change.