England’s Chronicle, October 1459
Blood and death on a battlefield, Englishman facing Englishman.
How have we been dragged into this fine goblet of disaster?
Is there anyone alive in this unfortunate country who does not know?
We have a King whose mind is not to be relied upon.
We have a Queen who sees the lure of power for herself and her young son.
We have a royal cousin, the Duke of York, whose views are ambivalent. Does he wish to be an efficient Protector and Counsellor to our sad King? Or does he desire the crown for himself?
Our noble Duke is haunted by a vast array of enemies who will undermine his reputation for honesty and hard work on behalf of the King. The Beaufort Duke of Somerset is the most dangerous. So much for the Love Day travesty of renewed friendship last year, when all erstwhile antagonists walked hand in hand, arm in arm. An event that we would all happily forget since it achieved nothing but a mockery of our King’s attempts to heal the enmity between his most powerful magnates.
Now it seems that the adherents of York and Lancaster will face each other on a battlefield at Ludford Bridge.
We advise you to pray for a fast resolution. For which side you will pray is a matter for your own conscience. Duchess Cecily will be praying hard for her husband, despite the array of Neville relatives who still cleave to King Henry and the Lancastrians.
Cecily, Duchess of York, to her estranged sister Anne, Duchess of Buckingham
Written from our castle at Ludlow, on this tenth day of October 1459
Sister, written in haste so excuse the scrawl and blots,
Do not give up on my letter and consign it to the flames before reading past the first sentence. I am writing to tell you that by the end of tomorrow your sister and her closest family may well be dead in a ditch or taken prisoner as traitors.
I can hear your thoughts already, loud and clear from distant Kent, accusing Richard of desiring the crown for his own supreme ennoblement. Unfair, Anne! That is and never was Richard’s desire, no matter what Queen Marguerite might announce to the world.
The King’s army is outside our gates. I do not know what information you have, but it would be remiss of you if you allowed yourself to become cut off from these dangerous developments. I feel it my duty to write in warning for we will not emerge from this unscathed, although who will suffer most – you or I – cannot yet be determined.
When we were children, who would ever have predicted that, through marriage, we would have become enemies, cleaving to opposing sides in battle, you for Lancaster, me for York. It wounds my heart, but what is done, is done.
I am presuming that your misguided husband Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, is at this very moment within shouting distance of us here in Ludlow, with the Lancastrian army at King Henry’s side. I can only hope that Henry is not the man for waging war, that he will withdraw and agree to parley, but as Richard says, the King is not always in command of himself, much less his armies.
Neither one of us, Anne, can deny that Henry has proved dilatory in recent years, even when he appears to be in control of his senses.
Richard is confident there will be no battle. He says that we are as well prepared as we could be with ditches and palisades of stakes, with well-set ambushes and traps. We have cannon set in place. Nor will Richard fight, unless provoked beyond reason.
This was Richard’s final reassurance as he left me to inspect the soldiery that inhabit, like a plague of rats, every corner of the town and castle. Which should comfort me, but it does not. Do you think Buckingham might use his considerable weight to persuade Henry to negotiate? I know he is a man of good sense and moderation, if he can but capture the King’s flea-hopping attention from my cousin Somerset’s constant aggression. You should know that Marguerite has refused any kindly intervention. She stands like a beacon on a hill-top, agleam with regal authority and vicious recrimination. All of our past closeness is buried under acrimony and fear.
I am afraid, Anne. My sons Ned and Edmund are with Richard on the battlefield. I know they are of an age to be there, but I fear for them, particularly Edmund who is not as robust as his brother. Meg, George, and Diccon remain here with me at the castle, although George claims he should fight beside his father. He is already almost as tall as I, but then it has to be admitted that I cannot boast of any degree of stature. At this moment he is polishing his weapons.
Oh, Anne, do we not both know what it is to lose children to death? I cannot imagine your grief at the loss of your only son and Buckingham’s heir, from his wounds from a Yorkist sword after the Battle of St Albans. At least you and Buckingham could be consoled that he had a son of his own, your grandson, to inherit the dukedom.
I cannot even consider the loss of my sons to Lancastrian swords, on my own doorstep here in Ludlow.
I do not expect compassion from you. The political rifts have been dug too deep. All I can ask is that you petition the Blessed Virgin and Holy Mother for a peaceful outcome, and understand that it was never my intention to be at odds with you. It is the way the world works when men have ambitions.
From your sister who, despite all, loves you as much as she ever did.
Cecily
Duchess Cecily’s intercession to the Blessed Virgin Mary
Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
I raise before you the names of those dear to me, who even now stand at the forefront of their forces on the battlefield. In your blessed mercy, preserve them, keep them safe, nurture them in their decisions and bring them safe home. If they must face death, give them courage and fortitude.
I pray that you do not give credence to anything my cousin, Henry Beaufort, the Duke of Somerset, might offer up in his prayers. He has proved, in all his dealings with the House of York, to be nothing less than a serpent in the royal grass. He would perjure his soul before telling the honest truth.
Amen
Richard, Duke of York, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Ludford Bridge
Cecily,
Marguerite encourages the King to break out his banners and don armour, as if he were a true soldier and leader in battle, which we know he is not. The King would rather sit in his pavilion and read his missal, but the Queen has him firmly under her heel. I fear that the mummery of the King in full battle array is having the desired effect, filling our troops with awe. There is much desertion, our soldiers abandoning the battlefield to flee or skulk in the streets of Ludlow.
I will negotiate with the King, but never on Somerset’s terms.
Whatever the outcome, never doubt the esteem in which I hold you, nor my dedication to the future of our children. You are the one shining candle in the present darkness.
Richard
Chapter Two
Disaster Threatens the House of York
Duchess Cecily faces her worst fears in Ludlow Castle, the twelfth day of October 1459
It was midnight, the darkest hour when barn-owls called and bats flitted noiselessly, caught as black shadows in the gleam of the guards’ lanterns. I was sitting on my bed, sleepless, book in hand, but the Life of St Maude with her piety and charitable works did not keep my attention, not even her clever involvement in the tenth-century politics of Bavaria. The children were asleep, exhausted by the excitement and tensions in the coming and going of mounted men and cart-loads of supplies.