Perhaps you will know of the ravages from your present husband, Viscount Beaumont, parroting the self-congratulatory voices of King Henry’s Court. Somerset’s is the loudest and most unforgivable, full of self-adulation for the victory as if he had driven Richard from the battlefield with his own sword. Was your husband at Ludford Bridge? Close as Viscount Beaumont is to the King and Queen, I expect that he was. If so, he made no attempt to rescue his sister by marriage, but then I would expect no less. He has been remarkably two-faced in his loyalties. He might once have been a friend of York, but now he kneels to the Queen.
Despite my courage that day, it failed me at the end. I could not immediately enter the Great Chamber to view the depredations for myself. I knew it would be heartbreaking. When I eventually did step across the threshold it was as bad as I had expected, my private chambers stained, robbed, and defiled. The grim outrage of it, the rank stench of destruction and squalor, will remain forever engraved in my mind like the scrolls on my crucifix.
Do you know what hurt me most?
My books, Kat, my precious books, their leather covers fouled unspeakably by the trample of feet, scattered across my chamber in rude disharmony. My fury at such sacrilege was momentarily more painful than all the rest, yet there they were for me to reclaim. The rabble had no need for them, not even to burn them in revenge. I thank the Blessed Virgin that they are left to me.
There, Kat, as you see, I am indeed guilty of vanity, of selfish acquisitiveness, regretting the state of my books when all around me our people have lost everything. I am ashamed. I should rejoice that we are alive and unharmed, but where do we go from here? I think travel would be dangerous, if I should be recognised. I await a message from the King. And from Richard, of course.
I should tell you that I have made my will. I think I have nothing to leave you. Anne will get her rosaries because I am wearing both of them beneath my shift.
No one laid a finger on me or the children. At least we were spared that, even if the King’s troops consider Richard to be a traitor and a coward. It is a comfort, if a meagre one, that Richard was not here to see the wilful desecration of his Mortimer inheritance. I have not told him of it, nor will I. I do not yet know where he is.
I am suffering from an excess of exhaustion. I have no time to be exhausted. I wish you were here with me to give me the benefit of your clear sight and caustic tongue.
Your sister,
Cecily
England’s Chronicle, October 1459
Blood, rape and rampage. Have we not written these desperate words before?
Troubled times for those living in the Welsh March.
The prosperous town of Ludlow has been sacked by royal forces.
Where was the Duke of York? Fled in fear of his life.
We must have compassion for the townsfolk who suffered bloody violence and mistreatment. Reports say it was nought but a drunken frenzy, houses raided, possessions stolen, even down to the cooking pots from the hearths.
We consider it a disgrace that in this fair land, soldiery should have been allowed to run riot and harm our merchants and townsfolk who had no part in the hostilities. Who can defend the assault and rape suffered by the women of the town? But there appears to have been little morality in this event on either side. How many of the mob were Yorkist soldiers, summarily abandoned by their commanders on the battlefield? We must put some of the blame at the feet of the Duke of York and the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick.
We are told that the Duchess of York herself appeared in the centre of it all as witness to the foul event, refusing to allow her people to suffer alone, with all the diligence of the incomparable lady that she is. We commend her to your sympathies.
But will the Queen feel the same compassion? We doubt it and fear for the Duchess’s future. Will the Queen put her on trial for treason in her husband’s absence? We hear that those townsfolk arrested suffered no further punishment but to their gold coffers when they were allowed to buy their release. No such good fortune for the Duchess, we fear.
But where is the Duke?
A question certain to be asked when parliament meets with the King in Coventry.
Chapter Three
A Bitter Humiliation
Humphrey, Duke of Buckingham, to his sister by law Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Coventry, October 1459
My dear Cecily,
I send you a warning.
Since I have no news of your imprisonment or death I must presume that, despite the despoiling of the town and your castle, you are still in Ludlow and at liberty. It is expected that King Henry’s new parliament, which he has summoned to meet with him here in Coventry, will declare all involved with the House of York in the inexcusable stand-off at Ludford Bridge as traitors and deal with them accordingly.
Even though I too find it impossible to condone York’s behaviour in battle or in flight, I write in a spirit of compromise. I urge you to throw yourself on Henry’s mercy.
Come to Coventry and plead your innocence. Bring the children with you. I am certain that you will be given safe conduct. Beg for royal mercy on your younger children, your household and your people. If you do not, things will go ill for them.
I believe that it is what York would want you to do.
This is no time for Neville or Plantagenet self-conceit. The Queen is not leaning towards mercy, but Henry has a kind heart.
Your servant,
Humphrey, Duke of Buckingham
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Humphrey, Duke of Buckingham
Written from Ludlow Castle, October 1459
Humphrey,
As you see, I am still alive and at liberty.
Do I need you to advise me of the need for compromise? I wake with it every morning, chew it through every meal and take it to my pillow every night. It is a bitter mouthful, giving me no sustenance but despair.
Do you even know that Henry will have mercy? Can you rely on his being in control of his wits from one month’s end to the next? Yet you advise me to put my head into the lion’s mouth.
Do not talk to me about Richard’s dishonourable behaviour in taking flight. I know at first hand the humiliation of having to plead for my life with the ravaging hordes who invaded my own home. Yet if my family had stayed at Ludford Bridge to debate the issue, my husband, brother, nephew and two sons would be dead or on trial for treason.
I will consider your advice. I see the value of my coming to Coventry, but I will not put my young children into the hands of the Coventry parliament. That would be a denial of my duty and care as their mother.
You should know, Humphrey, that I wrote a will before we were invaded, leaving Meg, George and Diccon to your immediate care if I were done to death by a howling mob, since I know you for a man of honour. I have destroyed that will. Perhaps I should have kept it in case Marguerite decides to send me to my death.
With thanks for your thoughtful but ill-timed advice,
Cecily, Duchess of York
Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Epworth, Lincolnshire
Cis,
Your experience at Ludlow is diabolical. I will restrain myself from adding to your heartbreak by addressing some harsh words towards your husband. What was he doing to leave you to face this alone?
I would suggest that you come and stay with me. But that would be comfortable for neither of us. As you say, my husband, John Beaumont, is as closely in bed with the Queen as it is possible to be without committing a sin. He might once have been a close friend to York but now he sees his ambitions in Marguerite’s camp. Being a participant in the Council of the young Prince of Wales suits his pomposity very well.