Queen by Right (14 page)

A
FEW DAYS
later the castle was abuzz with the news that Beaufort had been nominated cardinal-priest by the pope. Richard told Cecily that speculation was the council might refuse him the right to accept it again. When Cecily looked confused, he enlightened her.

“He will be the pope’s puppet here in England, some say. Englishmen have been suspicious of the pope’s influence ever since Thomas Becket’s time. Trust me, ’twill make the bishop more unpopular here at home if he wears the red hat. ’Tis no wonder he wants to leave on a lengthy pilgrimage,” Richard explained.

Cecily leveled her blue eyes at him. “You do not like my uncle, do you, Dickon?”

Richard shrugged. “What I feel is of no import, Cis. I have no influence with anyone, young as I am. But I am learning that what the people of England think of you is very important—especially when our sovereign lord is only six years old.” He pulled her arm through his and led her into the great hall for the noonday dinner. “And that is why I would like to go France and make my name as a soldier, as my lord of Bedford has done. Victories in France win Englishmen’s hearts.”

“But you have influence with me, Dickon. Does that count for naught? What will I do without you when you are gone to Normandy? Besides, I want to share in your victories. Can I not go with you as soon as we are married?”

Richard shook his head. “I will have been and come back long before we are married. Also we should not forget your father’s wish that you be patient and see reason. Nay, do not turn down your mouth like that,” he said, chuckling. “Never fear, I shall be back to wed you properly when the time is right, my rose of Raby.”

“Then I may not be waiting, my lord. I may take the veil instead,” Cecily retorted, and left him braying with laughter.

C
ECILY WAS IN
another sulk when she learned that ladies were not permitted to witness knighting ceremonies, and Joan became impatient.

“I blame your father for ever putting you in boy’s braies,” she complained
and crossed herself for mentioning it. “I suppose you will learn the hard way that women will never be a man’s equal in this world. We may lend an ear, we may even counsel our husbands when asked, but we are a man’s property from one end of our lives to the other. First ’tis our fathers who own and use us to profit from a marriage contract, and then we must honor and obey any husband thrust upon us. You would be well advised to learn obedience to your husband’s wishes, Cecily, for to disobey is unforgivable in a wife and is a reminder of Eve and her first sin: that of listening to Satan.”

Joan paused, hearing herself preach. Cecily needed sermons if Joan was ever going to teach her headstrong daughter the ways of good Christian women. “And you will obey your husband, Daughter,” she added with finality.

Cecily sighed and stroked Jessamine’s silky coat. “I know you are right, Mother, but it does not seem fair, ’tis all. But”—she brightened—“I am not yet married and my father is dead, thus I have no man to obey.” She saw her mother cover a smile and forged on. “How I long to witness Dickon’s knighting, Mam, and I do not see why ladies must be excluded. Why? Do men have to take off all their clothes?” This made Joan chuckle, and Cecily was moved to laugh, too. “Nay, I don’t suppose they do.”

Joan leaned into her on the window seat, where they were enjoying some fresh air. “Mayhap I can find a way to smuggle you into the old anchorite’s cell behind the chapel, where you can use the squint. Let me see what I can do.”

Cecily jumped up, sending the dog flying, and clapped her hands with delight. “Thanks be to St. Jude! And thanks be to you, dearest Mother. I promise to be as quiet as a mouse—a church mouse,” she cried, pleased with her wit, and they both laughed. It was the first time Cecily had heard her mother laugh out loud since Ralph had died, and her heart was lifted too by the unexpected joy of it.

C
ECILY TRIED TO
get comfortable in the cramped, dark space behind the west wall of St. Mary de Castro church, where the squint had given a long-ago anchorite access to the Mass from his cell. Rowena had procured a plain woolen gown for her, so she had been unremarked as she had slipped into the windowless room, clutching a tinderbox and candle.

Terrified she might be attacked by a rat, she sat down on an upturned barrel and drew up her legs as high off the dirt floor as she could. She lit the candle and settled down to wait, pulling a book from its protective pouch at her waist. When she recognized that it was the musings of her mother’s favorite
saint, Brigid of Sweden, she groaned. And Joan had even marked a particular passage she meant her daughter to read.

Her Latin was rudimentary at best, Cecily admitted to herself, but she applied herself to the text partly in gratitude for her mother’s clever plan and partly to ward off boredom. She sighed and began a rough translation.

“I saw a throne in heaven on which sat the Lord Jesus Christ as Judge. At his feet sat the Virgin Mary. Surrounding the throne was a host of angels and a countless multitude of saints.”

Cecily yawned and skipped down to St. Brigid’s first question.

“O Judge, I ask you: You gave me a mouth. May I not say what I please?”

Aye, Mother. Cecily smiled into the gloom. I now know exactly why you chose this text. She read the answer aloud in an imitation of her uncle the bishop:
“Friend, I gave you a mouth in order rationally to speak words beneficial to your soul and body as well as words for my glory.”

“God’s bones!” she expostulated and threw the book down. “I need read no more.”

Just then she heard the fanfare, and she swiveled around to peer through the squint. Soon three dozen chosen young men processed up the aisle in pairs. Each wore a tunic of chain mail over a short white robe, with an empty scabbard by his side. They carried their sword upright by the point, their new golden spurs hanging from the hilt.

When the candidates for knighthood were ranged in two columns facing each other, Cecily heard a rousing “God save the king” from outside the church, and upon another fanfare, young Henry, under his royal canopy, passed by the others and to the choir. How small he looks, she thought, as he received his spurs. Bedford grasped the boy’s sword and cried,
“Avaunces!”
Henry knelt and was dubbed knight by his uncle. “Arise, sir knight.
Soit chevalier,
” the duke cried.

Poor Henry, Cecily thought, watching the skinny boy rise and grasp the heavy sword offered by his uncle. It seemed that it was now his duty to dub the rest of the lads with it, but by the time the fifth boy was told to rise and receive his spurs, Henry was so tired that he relinquished his duty to Bedford, and Cecily was barely able to hear the rest of the names the king then called. She began to feel sorry for him.

But then it was Richard’s turn. As he stepped forward, his head held high and his eyes shining with pride, something strange was happening to Cecily as she gazed at her betrothed, and she pulled back her head in surprise. A
tingling, which had begun in her heart, she surmised, was now traveling to her lower belly, making her breathless for a few seconds. She thought she would faint. What is it? she wondered, hoping she was not ill. She returned to the squint in time to see Richard walk toward her back to his place, his face radiant, and she felt the warm sensation all over again. Can this be what Rowena meant by swooning? Could I possibly be in love? And she hugged herself.

The ceremony moved into the Mass. Cecily thought she had better return to dress for the banquet. Retrieving St. Brigid’s writings, she snuffed the candle and slipped out of the cell, pondering the odd sensation she had felt.

Later, upon entering the great hall, the first person she encountered was her sister, Anne. Glad to see someone she knew at last, Cecily went forward eagerly to greet her. Nan reacted to her name being called from halfway across the room with a disdainful frown that stopped Cecily in her tracks.

“Really, Cecily,” Anne murmured, casting a critical look at Cecily’s clothes, “have you still not learned to behave like a lady?”

“I am happy to see you too, Nan,” Cecily retorted, and went to find her place at one of the long tables.

Course after delectable course was brought out for the hundreds of richly garbed guests. The little king presided over the feast, his golden spurs on a red satin cushion by his side. The noonday sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, the dust from all the comings and goings on the rush-strewn floor making heavenly pathways in its rays.

After Nan’s chilly reception, Cecily looked around for Richard to cheer her. Hearing his unmistakable laugh ringing out from a group across the hall, her heart lifted and the infectious sound made her laugh too.

Baynard’s Castle, London
FEBRUARY 8, 1461

C
ecily realized she was laughing out loud behind her heavy tester curtains and hoped she had not awakened her attendants. Dear Richard, I did so love your laugh, she thought.

Now the rest of the evening at Leicester came flooding back to her, a celebration of the knighting of their king. What promise the boy held then with his good looks, model behavior, and mingled blood of the great Henry the Fifth and the French princess Catherine of Valois.

Cecily harrumphed as she lay contemplating the weakling who still sat on the throne. How wrong we all were. It is not that he is a bad man, she thought, because in fact he is too good, too kind, but out of the goodness and piety has emerged an ineffectual king. She began to wonder what was it that made a good king, one like Henry’s warrior father? Was it only power and prowess in battle? She dismissed the thought, knowing, after many conversations with Richard, that good governance of the people was the key, which meant taking and holding the reins. Shaking her head, she had to admit that this Henry had never had a chance to take them, surrounding himself as he had with unscrupulous sycophants. Poor Henry. He had inherited the crown as a babe simply through his right as a first-born son, and from that moment he had been manipulated by stronger men.

Aye, there is no doubt, she admitted, Henry is a weak man. But is his weakness the fault of his piety and goodness or is it because he has a weak mind? She could not decide. However, this jumble of musings about Henry and kingship led Cecily back to the knighthood feast in Leicester and to the first time she noticed any odd behavior in the king.

Henry had been seated under a canopy that night, his oversized sword by his side, and the poor boy did his best not to fall asleep as dish after dish of rich food was placed before him. Cecily remembered that Richard was one of
the new knights honored to be chosen to serve the king on their knees. It was after several courses had been consumed greedily that Cecily had chanced to look up at the king, curious to know if he was enjoying himself. It was as though he had been in a trance or as if Jack Frost had run icy fingers over him and frozen him in place, she thought now. Henry’s light eyes stared into space, his hand poised halfway between his platter and his mouth. What was wrong with the boy, she had wondered, and why was no one else noticing? But Henry just went on staring until Uncle Beaufort sidled up to him and gently moved the king’s hand back to his plate. Henry had started, and it was clear that he was puzzled by the bishop’s intervention. Cecily remembered looking around at her neighbors and wondering if others had pretended not to notice.

She stared into the darkness of her curtained bed, seeing again the magnificent hall and reliving that special day in her life. All her senses were satiated that night by the delicious taste of delicate dishes, the pungent aromas of roasted meat mingled with the heavy scents liberally applied to the throats and wrists of the ladies, the myriad colors of silks, satins, damasks, and velvets adorned with every precious gem known to man, the sweet sounds of gems-horns, viols, lutes, and recorders. And then there was the touch of Richard’s hand as he led her out to dance.

Cecily gave a smothered snort of laughter as she recalled the other memorable event that night: her first stab of jealousy. Aye, Cis, you can laugh now, but at the time you believed the heavens had fallen about you.

It was after the tables were cleared and the dancing began that she tried to find Richard in the melee, she recalled. As she made her way to him, eager to share her secret viewing of the knighting, she had almost tripped over a small dog camouflaged in the rushes, trodden on the long points of several shoes, and felt a flea take a bite out of her ankle. She could not quite remember what oath she had uttered, but she would never forget the shock on the face of the man near her.

But then she spotted Richard and started to go to him but stopped short when she had seen
her
, Cecily recalled, conjuring up the voluptuous young woman whose face was turned from her. I suppose that if I had not felt that first flutter of love in the hermit’s cell earlier, I might have ignored her, Cecily told herself. But, oh, how jealous I was to see a strange young woman with her hand on Richard’s arm. Such boldness had rendered me speechless with disgust, Cecily admitted.

But if she remembered aright, Richard did not appear to be at all offended by such intimacy, and she was determined to confront them both if she could only stop her legs from trembling. However, by the time the large man blocking her path had moved out of her field of vision and she had taken a first step, the lady was gone.

When Cecily approached Richard, he was stunned by her indignation and pretended Lady Agnes meant nothing to him. She was Queen Catherine’s attendant. He claimed that he had not even noticed the lady’s hand on his arm.

Chuckling now, Cecily mentally wagged her finger at Richard. Ah, my sweet husband, she thought ruefully, I am certain that was not the only lie you ever told me in our lives together, but in the matter of Lady Agnes, they have all been long since forgiven. She had regretted not dropping the topic then and there and winced now at the memory of her prim retort. “I cannot think this . . . whatever her name is . . . is a lady. She had her hand on your arm in a most familiar way.”