Chapter Five
Nevilles Were Not Born to Surrender
Duchess Cecily settles into her imprisonment in Tonbridge Castle, December 1459
‘Take the boys to the kitchens. Feed them and escort them to their chambers.’ And then to me: ‘You must be fatigued from travel, Cecily. We will talk privately.’
My sister Anne, come to issue orders and welcome me.
Subdued by the journey and the overpowering stonework of the high walls and barbican towers, George and Diccon followed the servant without question, while I assessed our reception. It was a welcome of sorts, I supposed, but an icy one. I should have been grateful that my sister had condescended to appear in her inner bailey for the event, rather than leave it to her Steward.
‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ I said.
Anne’s expression remained unresponsively bleak. She made no move to approach me; I was stiff and weary, hungry and thirsty, but I could afford no weakness, and thus I waited, unmoving, a reluctant guest. There was a vast gulf between us, and no accord.
‘Follow me,’ she commanded.
And so I did, drawing Meg with me, an encouraging smile in her direction.
Tonbridge Castle, a fortress in Kent, was to be my future home. It was not my first visit, but it struck me anew that it was a castle that demanded respect, with a strength as great if not greater than any in England. Had that been in Marguerite’s mind when she sent me here? There would be no escape, no rescue attempt. I was destined to remain at Tonbridge until Marguerite decided otherwise, hemmed in by the great towers at four corners connected by a formidable structure of high curtain walls. A massive keep on a motte where I would be given rooms. A double gatehouse, the walls thick and menacing. Despite the evening glow of the sandstone facings, it did not welcome me. The gates had closed behind me, making it a true imprisonment.
‘Don’t tarry. It grows cold.’ Anne marched ahead of me with her head high and her velvet skirts swishing against the painted tiles.
Thus the chasm between us gleamed as darkly as the approaching night-clouds. Since that terrible day that Richard left me in Ludlow, I had never felt so isolated, not even when I stood alone in the midst of Henry’s lawless troops. Not even when I had knelt before the King. Hiding my sense of hopelessness, I followed Anne into the keep, my head as high as hers, and a sharp glance at Meg to do the same.
My sister escorted me up to her solar where candles had been lit, dismissing her women after ale had been brought. I drank. I needed to quench my thirst but even more I needed the strength from its bitter taste, as Anne deliberately occupied the chair with arms and a carved back. For Meg and I, meagre stools were provided.
‘I should thank you for receiving me,’ I said, to interrupt what was becoming a heavy silence.
‘I was given little choice in the matter.’
‘Yet still it is good to see you.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
Meg sat silently.
‘Is Humphrey with the King?’ I asked.
‘Of course he is. What would you expect? But then I no longer understand your ambition-driven motives. What does Richard want? The crown for himself? Do you see yourself at his side, wearing a crown?’
I inhaled slowly, taking another sip of ale. ‘He does not. I do not. You know that Richard wishes merely to take his rightful role as Henry’s counsellor.’
‘Why should I believe you?’ Anne’s fingers were tightly woven together in her lap, when they were not picking at the soft nap of the velvet. ‘York raised an army against the King. Our brother Salisbury fought against the King’s forces at Blore Heath and killed his commander. With such a history of rebellion, why should I not believe that you are the most disloyal of subjects?’
I held her stare.
‘I was never a liar.’
‘You could reject him now and regain your freedom. Divorce is possible with support in the right circles.’
‘Give me one good reason why I would not remain shackled to him? His ambitions are mine too. I have no love for Somerset and his friends.’
‘York has treated you wickedly enough. Why would this not drive you back to where you and all Nevilles belong? Back to Lancaster.’
‘What do you mean?’
My weariness had drained away under so personal an attack, against Richard more than against me.
‘Everyone has heard the tale of what happened in Ludlow.’
‘Then you must tell me.’
‘Don’t be naive, Cis.’ The use of my shortened name was not friendly. ‘It has all been repeated delectably in Lancastrian circles – embroidered to make the worst of the Duke of York, I accept, but I would wager there is more than a kernel of truth in it. How he relinquished his wife, abandoning her to face the enemy on her own, allowing her to stand at the market cross, with three small children weeping and clutching at her skirts.’ The long-pent-up bitterness flowed on and on. ‘Oh, I’ll not dispute that the Lancastrian forces behaved like drunken sots, but for York to leave you unprotected, not knowing if they would kill you in drink-fuelled retribution, is too much to tolerate.’
A brief silence fell, as I absorbed the accurate depth of rumour. And how could I put it right?
‘But that is not true.’ My loyal daughter Meg had found her voice under the onslaught. I had my champion after all.
With a ghost of a smile, I put out my hand to Meg’s. ‘Your aunt does not mean to place the blame on your father.’
‘Yes, she does. It is false.’
‘Yes, the tale is false,’ I agreed, holding my daughter’s infuriated gaze. ‘We were not abandoned at the market cross. We were safe in the castle. Except that…’
‘Except what?’ Anne demanded.
‘Except that someone opened the gates,’ I admitted.
‘Is that any better? That some of your own people betrayed you?’
‘Only one disgruntled guard,’ Meg said, astonishing me at her summing up of that terrifying event. Until now she had been reticent; in the face of her aunt’s attack, she was not. ‘No one subjected us to disrespect or lack of care. We did go down into Ludlow, to see what had been done for our people. It was not my father’s fault that the royal troops ruined the town. We stood by our duty to him.’
‘A brave speech indeed.’ Anne’s lips twisted in disbelief, dismissing the whole subject. ‘What cannot be remedied, Cecily, is that there is no longer a future in England for Richard or for your sons. Accept it. Meanwhile you are to live under my jurisdiction. I do not enjoy this, but it is all your own fault.’
Swift anger swept away my determination to be compliant. I stood, drawing Meg with me, conscious that my brave daughter was wan with fatigue. ‘Then since we are here only under sufferance, and to be kept under lock and key, I would be grateful if you would direct me to our chambers. You may then lock the doors after us. Do you release us for meals?’
‘There is no call to be frivolous, Cecily. We must strive to not prey on each other’s patience.’
‘I think you have done quite enough to my patience already.’
When I stood by the door, I turned my head and asked, because I must, for I had still received no firm news of Richard and Edmund, or of Ned and my brother, even after all this time.