Queen by Right (44 page)

“Pish, Dickon! That is no compliment—we are your only adult family members,” Cecily recalled retorting. “Come, sit and take some ale. If I may say so, you look as though you have walked from Angers. I trust your mission bore fruit?”

Richard nodded. “’Tis not over, but we make progress. Edmund has returned to England to report. I was happy to see the back of him, in truth, for he is arrogance incarnate. I suspect he will take all the credit for our dealings with Duchess Isabella. Once again, he will be at the king’s side and I shall not.”

“Tell me more anon, my lord. For now, forget the road, your worries, and your weariness and sit with us,” Cecily had cajoled.

After seeing to his horse and refreshing himself with some ale, Richard removed his sweaty tabard and leather jerkin and sighed with relief to be finally unencumbered. Cecily was offering the horse a handful of grass, so Richard took the opportunity of asking his sister in a whisper if she would mind returning to the city with the escort on her own.

“I will take care of Cecily,” he murmured.

Isabel chuckled. “I have no doubt of that, Brother. But do not be long or the tongues will wag,” she teased him.

Richard let out a neigh of laughter. The familiar sound had filled Cecily with pleasure.

Aye, life was always sweeter when Richard was there, she thought, feeling around for the slippery soap.

If she remembered rightly, it was not long before she and Richard were alone on the riverbank, and after Richard’s nimble fingers had helped her to disrobe, Cecily plunged naked into the shallow water. Richard hurriedly finished undressing himself and then followed her. They soon stood face to face, moving their hands over each other’s wet body until their fingers intertwined and their lips met on a whispered “I love you.” Richard guided her hand to his prick and let her decide when it was time. I made him wait far too long, she thought, sighing now, as she recalled how she had seductively tongued the water trickling off his torso.

“Ah, cruel Cis,” he had moaned. “I fear I must cut your teasing short or—”
He crushed her to him, thrusting into her and crying out in his release. Cecily knew then, with a sly smile, that she had waited exactly long enough.

Cecily let out a little moan in remembered pleasure of that day, and Constance, thinking she had pulled too roughly on a strand of hair, apologized. Suddenly, her mistress sat up, splashing water onto the floor.

“What day is it, Constance?”

“Why, ’tis the feast of the nativity of the Virgin, your grace. We celebrated with a special rosary this morning.”

“Aye, I know that, Constance. But has it not been five weeks since my last course? I forget.”

Constance knew very well that Cecily was late. A long time ago she had taken over the ritual of preparing her mistress for the monthly confinement. However, it was not her place to badger the duchess into an examination. “You are correct, madame. ’Tis more than five weeks.”

Cecily turned a radiant face to her physician. “Then perhaps we had better see if I am with child.”

W
ITH ANOTHER BABE
on the way, Ned and Anne healthy and happy in the nursery with the new nursemaid, Anne, who came from the Norman region of Caux, and Richard ensconced at Rouen for a long period, Cecily thought she could not be happier. Yet Jacquetta Woodville was still a thorn in her side.

Throughout the past year, Cecily had tried to define the origin of her dislike for the younger woman but had never been able to put her finger on it. It simply lurked in the shadows to be puzzled over from time to time. A tidbit of information following the tryst at Les Andelys had come to her through Rowena. It had angered Cecily, but as it was mere servants’ gossip, she had tried to bury it. Jacquetta was said to have disparaged Constance’s skills on more than one occasion, calling the doctor a charlatan. Cecily was well aware that Jacquetta believed she had magical powers—how many times had the woman brought her water-witch ancestress into a conversation—but as Cecily herself was not above believing in magic, she had grudgingly dismissed Jacquetta’s distrust of Constance as jealous disbelief in the doctor’s more scientific method of healing. It was, however, yet another reason for Cecily’s dislike, justified or not.

Cecily could not say when she became resolved to treat Jacquetta with the utmost civility for Richard’s sake—especially after both women had given birth to heirs within a month of each other—but she was happy that Richard
had noticed the concession. He had commended her on her graciousness more than once, and indeed there was no one who would have guessed the two women did not share the highest regard for each other.

“Your Elizabeth is the most beautiful child I have ever laid eyes on,” Cecily had told Jacquetta when they were both in the castle nursery, admiring their respective sons. “And little Anthony here is a bonny boy, as well. But then they have very handsome parents.”

Jacquetta had smiled beatifically and in turn had praised Edward’s lustiness. “He does not have the look of his father, does he?” she had said, all innocence. “He has the look of a Norseman about him. Was your father a large man?”

Cecily feigned amusement. Lowering her voice, she said conspiratorially, “My dear duchess, if ’twere not such a high-flown idea, I might think you were implying my husband is not Edward’s father!” Jacquetta laughed merrily too. “But to answer your question. Aye, my father was broad-shouldered. But you must not forget, madam, that my husband is a Plantagenet. His grandsire King Edward was a giant of a man.”

Afterward they had conversed pleasantly of this and that, but deep in her heart Cecily still distrusted the beautiful Jacquetta.

“I
AM REGENT
of France by
their
appointment,” Richard railed at Cecily not long after the birth of their second living son, Edmund. He had entered the sunny solar waving a letter and slapped at it every time he made a point. “Now they are sending Somerset, that braggart who claims to be a military genius, to defend Guyenne behind my back. Somerset!”

Cecily looked up from her needlework. “Soft, my lord,” she said sternly, frowning a reminder that they were not alone. Isabel and her attendant, Margaret Oldhall, Rowena, and Constance were all plying their needles diligently, and in a corner Anne was playing quietly with Edward while the nurse looked on. When Anne heard her father’s voice, she squealed and ran headlong to embrace his knees. He picked her up and gave her a noisy kiss on the mouth, making the little girl wipe her face and giggle.

“Forgive me, ladies, my temper ran away with me,” he apologized with a sheepish grin. “Pay me no heed. I thank you for not repeating my words.” He swung his daughter round and round, making her laugh with delight, and the toddler Edward began to take a few halting steps toward them, determined to join in the sport. “
Tiens!
Ned is walking well,” Richard cried proudly. “And
pray look at that strength of will. He has his mother’s stubborn streak, I warrant. Good boy, Ned. You want your turn, eh?”

When he had thrown the delighted Edward up in the air a few times, he carried him back to the nurse, with Anne holding his other hand.
“Madame, je vous rends vos charges,”
he told the plump young woman, who took Edward back onto her lap and gave him a smacking kiss.

“Gramerci, milord,”
she responded, as little Nan clasped her arms about Nurse Anne’s neck.

Richard nodded, satisfied to see how much his children approved of Cecily’s choice of nursery attendant. He returned to Cecily. “May we walk together, my lady?”

Cecily put down her sewing and rose. “Constance, pray accompany me.” She was pleased at how quickly she had regained her energy since Edmund’s birth, and with the salves Constance had prepared, her belly had returned to its smooth flatness albeit with a few more stretch marks. She had been touched by her husband’s unbridled pleasure at fathering another son. He had already bestowed his lands in Normandy on the baby and had had him baptized in Rouen’s Notre Dame cathedral with great pomp in order to show his goodwill to the English Normans. “He will be a great Norman landowner, while Edward will inherit my lands in England,” he explained. “So, it seems wise for us to have him christened in Normandy’s most important church.”

They descended the newell stair and walked across the courtyard, under the gatehouse, and into the city. It was late in the afternoon, and the farmers were taking their unsold wares back to their fields and farms. Two pikemen followed behind Constance as the duke and duchess made their way down the dirt road between the small houses and garden plots toward the river.

“Now, Richard, tell me why you are so angry,” Cecily said, savoring the smell of roasted larks from a cookshop. She was used to Richard’s outbursts, but while they never lasted long, they were sometimes ill timed and could be followed by rash deeds.

Richard told her that John Beaufort, duke of Somerset, had been given the title lieutenant and captain-general of Aquitaine and France and put in command of an expedition to secure Gascony. Richard was glowering when he added that the council considered John of Somerset’s expedition more worthy of financing than paying Richard’s wages or sending more troops for Normandy. “And,” he continued, gesticulating wildly with his free arm, “and
he has been made a duke with precedence over all other dukes save Gloucester and me.” He had forgotten where he was for a moment and had raised his voice noticeably. People were stopping to stare at the unusual sight of the Yorks strolling down the street like any other citizens.

“Forgive me, Cis,” he said, lowering his voice when he caught her worried look. “But did I not finally gain a truce with Duchess Isabella as desired by the council? Aye, I did. And here I am performing my duty to the king to keep Normandy safe for him to the best of my ability, even though I lack the promised funds to do so. And the council sees fit to send Somerset with that money and those troops I have been requesting all these many months to defend Gascony instead. ’Tis no wonder I am angry. I sent Talbot to put my position to the council earlier this year, as you know.” His voice rose again. “This is their response, and it is insufferable!”

“Richard, control yourself,” Cecily admonished him. “People are watching.” More gently, she said, “It is insufferable that they have placed Somerset above you. I would dearly love to know what he is planning. He cannot be over you here in France. You are regent. And I wonder if Edmund knew of any such plan when he traveled with you?”

Richard turned with Cecily into a church, and Cecily, seeing that being in private would be best, motioned to Constance to wait outside. He pulled a letter out of his belt and began to read: “ ‘All the defenses of Normandy must be on high alert and York must, in addition, give all possible help and comfort to Somerset,’ so says Garter Herald. And Somerset will have authority over all English lands in France ‘where York comes not’ is what is writ. By granting Somerset authority in Maine and Anjou, as well as Gascony, it leaves me only Normandy.” Richard put his head in his hands. “I cannot hold Normandy without reinforcements, Cis. Talbot at Dieppe is failing to keep the dauphin at bay, and little by little all that was won by King Harry at Agincourt will be lost.”

Cecily chewed on her lip. It was not fair, she thought. Richard had proved to be a good and fair governor, so she had gleaned from Constance, who often brought back tidbits of information from her French friends and relatives. True, other than at Pontoise, he had not shown himself to be a military man though she knew he would hate to hear such criticism, but he was not receiving promised support from England, so how could he prove otherwise, in truth? But to send Somerset! Why, the man had been taken prisoner in Anjou at seventeen and had spent as many years captive of the French, and now, four
years later, he is thought to have the military experience to command this expedition. Such lack of wisdom! What power the Beauforts must wield. They have hoodwinked the king, Suffolk, and the council. No wonder Richard lost his temper, she mused.

“Oh, I forgot the amusing part of this story,” Richard said, with a harsh laugh, glancing down at the letter. “Somerset took an oath he would do nothing to ‘York’s dis-worship.’ “ He slapped at the paper again. “Ha! By accepting this command, he has already broken that vow.” He reminded her that he had sworn an oath of fealty to King Henry and had a contract with the council to govern English France. To resign that commission would be foolhardy, but to break that oath was treason. “And I have no intention of reminding those already wary of me on account of my past,” he declared. “I owe a debt to Henry’s father that I was not attainted along with mine.” He grimaced. “What can I do, Cis? My hands are tied.”

Cecily had no answer, but she was frustrated by her husband’s inaction. “Complaining will get us nowhere, my dear. Surely there is someone on the council you can trust to ask for help. Now is the time to assert yourself. You dreamed of being a great commander. Show them that you can be.” She sighed, once more wishing she were a man, and then tempered her advice. “But perhaps you could start by asking God’s help while we are in His house?” Feeling guilty for her impatience, she resorted to humor. “I, for one, will be on my knees every day praying for Somerset to fall on his bony arse. Come,” she said, pulling him toward a colorful statue of the Virgin holding a rather plump Infant Jesus, “let us not waste any time.”

A priest poked his head out of a confessional when he heard the unexpected and unusual braying laughter disturbing the quiet sanctity of his church. The priest’s presence curtailed Richard’s amusement, and taking his wife’s hand, he knelt with her on the stone floor.

“Hear me, O Lord, in my quest for patience in my duty to the king,” he murmured, “and may my worthiness over my rival not go unnoticed.” The rest of his prayer was silent.

Cecily prayed only that her husband might heed her advice and do more to help himself to fulfill his dreams.

R
ICHARD’S PRAYERS WERE
answered in the space of a twelvemonth.

John, duke of Somerset, landed in Cherbourg late in the summer and immediately dealt a crippling blow to relations between the English in
Normandy and their allies the Bretons by ransacking La Guerche, a town in Brittany, for no reason other than to get the elders to bribe him to leave. Infuriated, the Bretons joined with the French that autumn in attacking English shipping along the Norman coast. After these embarrassments and a stern reprimand from the council, Somerset then failed to meet any of the council’s goals with regard to confronting the French and defending Gascony. He was immediately recalled for squandering English money and troops, fell into a decline, and died—some said by his own hand—on the twenty-seventh of May, 1444, leaving only a baby girl, Margaret, as his heir.