And I did. But surely there was one question I must ask.
What of me? What of those three young children asleep in their beds?
My lips parted to ask it, only to be prevented by an embrace and a hasty kiss before he put me from him.
At the door he turned, his voice breaking in bitter self-condemnation, full of despair.
‘I abandoned my army, Cecily. I abandoned my banners. They are lying there to be trampled on, come the day. All the pride and glory of York to be buried in mud and ignominy.’ His eyes, wide and despairing, held mine. ‘And now I must abandon you. You did not ask. I honour you for it. But I cannot take you and the children with me. Time is too short, and I must get our sons away before they fall into Lancastrian hands. Oh, Cis, my dear love. What have I done?’
He strode back towards me, enveloping me in his arms as he had done so often, in cold departing or joyful arrival. At the same time he whispered in my ear. I replied in kind, but then placed my fingers on his lips to silence him. No time, in this chill guard-room with dawn fast approaching, to express what might be in our hearts.
They were sentiments that I would remember for ever.
And then: ‘Keep the gates bolted, your guards set,’ he commanded, returning to practicality. ‘They’ll not get in and they’ll not harm a woman and children. Whatever his weaknesses, Henry has more chivalry than to do that.’
But what about Marguerite? What of her chivalry?
Another question I dare not ask.
‘I have no doubt of the quality of your courage. The Nevilles were all bred up in adversity and pride. Keep faith with our people here. Will you promise me?’
‘I promise.’
‘You will never know the depth of my gratitude.’
Now his kiss was deep and wretched indeed. I clung to him for a second, absorbing the essence of him, for what might be the final time.
‘Go, Richard. Go before the huntsman sounds the three long motes for the hounds to seek the hart. You will be hunted most fervently by the Duke of Somerset.’
‘But by God’s will, we will escape and take refuge.’
‘Amen.’
Out into the cold air of the inner bailey, there was one more burden to lie heavily on my heart. I must bid farewell to my two sons, for how long I could not imagine.
‘May the Blessed Virgin keep you safe from harm,’ I said, a soft benediction as all was clamour and activity around us.
A grip of hands, a light kiss of farewell, cheek against cheek. This was no time for excess emotion. Ned was eager to be away, his gaze already straying towards the impressive bulk of his cousin of Warwick, but Edmund remained and shivered under my grip. There was only a year between them but Edmund still had much growing to do, in confidence as well as in height and breadth of shoulder.
‘You will bear yourself nobly as a son of York,’ I encouraged him. I would worry over this son more than I would over Ned.
‘Yes, madam.’
‘You will be the first to tell me that you have no time for accepting maternal advice on your conduct, but pay heed to your father’s instructions. Be strong in the faith that I have instilled in you and in your duty to your proud name.’
Edmund bowed his head as if taking a solemn vow before an altar. I felt him straighten, his spine stiffen. He was already taller than I.
‘I swear that I will, madam. I swear that you will be proud of me.’
‘It is time to go. I look for the day when we will be reunited.’
I was pleased to see him walk with more assurance as I pushed him in Richard’s direction. A woman’s tears or anxieties would bring nothing to this emotional occasion.
‘Farewell, my love.’ My final words to Richard. ‘God keep you and bring you home.’
‘Uphold the honour of the House of York,’ he replied, ‘the honour which I have this night all but buried. I will keep you in my mind and my heart.’
‘As you will remain in mine.’
Surprising me, he drew me close in the darkness, running the pads of his thumbs over my brows, my cheekbones, my lips, along the line of my jaw.
‘Just so that I can remember you,’ he said, ‘when time and distance between us seem too vast.’
The last I saw of my warlike family, they were riding for the outer gate, supplied with money and food for what could be a long journey.
I was beyond tears. I could not imagine when I would see Richard again, or any one of them. I returned to my chamber where, with deliberate self-control, I dressed for the coming day when I must face the Lancastrians. I would stay here in Ludlow, as I promised Richard that I would. I would hold firm to that promise and protect our people with every remaining breath in my body.
Recorded by the private hand of Cecily, Duchess of York
I am alone and Richard has gone, fled from Ludford Bridge, leaving me to record the manner of his flight. Cowardly. Dishonourable. Contemptible. Despicable. The denunciation of my lord clamours in my head.
That is what they will say of Richard. These words will be written in history, in my husband’s blood. Richard of York, the great lord who betrayed his wife and children to the marauding Lancastrian army to save his own neck. Who abandoned his army and relinquished his banners on the battlefield because he dared not face his King. The chroniclers will look to me for condemnation, for would I not join my diatribe to theirs? The Duchess of York must surely disavow her loyalties to an ambitious husband who left her behind.
What had he said in those final minutes together, when we could have merely spoken of our love for each other? I record his words here, for my own encouragement in future times of despair, when hope dies within me. Do not let them turn you against me, he said. We have lived and fought side by side for so many years. I need you to believe in me.
Oh, Richard, how could I not believe in you? But why leave me to face the enemy alone? We were capable of riding as hard and as fast as the rest. Why not take us out of danger, for our safety?
And why had I not, in the end, voiced my fears? Why had I not demanded to be rescued from what would become a second battlefield, here in the streets of Ludlow?
I had not asked because I knew all the answers and I already understood all the thoughts that had not been spoken between us. The questions I had wanted to ask and had not because time was too short. Who would know Richard and the working of his mind better than I?
If he had remained to face the royal army, it would have been more than the carefully worked and gilded flags that suffered. It would have been catastrophic defeat, leading to almost inevitable capture and death by the edge of the axe. Flight might save his life and that of our sons. And life meant hope of return, to put wrongs right.
But what if, in the process of flight, they were recaptured? A fast beheading outside the walls of our own castle? There would be no trial, no recourse to the King’s mercy. Even now Richard might be in Lancastrian hands, facing death.
All is quiet both within and without the castle. But so is death silent. Silent as the grave. Richard and my two eldest sons might already be bodies, stripped and humiliated on public display.
Why had he not taken me with him?
I trust my courage will run as freely as this ink on my pen.
I am here alone because I am the keystone. I am the one firm guiding hand to hold all in place until better times. Easy to fly like a mallard from the nest when a fox comes prowling. Richard trusts me to remain to care for those in need, to speak out for our people’s interests. If I had ridden with him, if we had all fallen into enemy hands, the House of York would have been obliterated in the blink of an eye, in a fit of mad revenge for the bloodshed at the battles of St Albans and Blore Heath. What if we had made it to the coast to take ship? Any whirlwind storm to sink our vessel and we would all lie, bones stripped of flesh by fish, at the bottom of the sea.