Chapters (58)
He sends her fair copy of the letter Buckingham encouraged him to write to the King. It repeats his loyal assurances and says he comes only to serve and prove his honour. ‘Buckingham will send it under cover with his own,’ he tells her. ‘I am grateful for that.’
Cecily has already heard from Anne herself. She has written to all her family in the time he’s been gone. To Anne, of course. To Salisbury and his shining son, Warwick. To Katherine, whose son is Norfolk’s duke, and Eleanor, who is wife to Northumberland’s earl. To George Baron Latimer and Edward Baron Bergavenny. To Robert, who is Bishop of Durham.
They all say the same: Richard must build bridges. His golden chance is lost.
She reads the shrug of shoulders in their pages. De la Pole’s death left a space at Henry’s side. Edmund Beaufort won the race to fill it. They don’t say whether, should it come to a fight, they’ll stand with Richard.
She had known better than to ask. Why should they? They are in calm waters and will not brave a storm for her.
Two weeks pass, the weather gives way to autumn, and still Richard has not completed his cautious progress to London. Every morning she rises, sick to her stomach; through every day she fears news of ambush, attack or arrest on his way. None comes.
At last, she opens a letter addressed from the capital and in Richard’s hand. She orders the room emptied. When all are gone and the door closed behind them, she takes a seat by the fire, lays a hand on the early swell of her belly, and reads.
He came to the city with three thousand men, left most of them outside the walls and rode in with two hundred. At the door to the King’s presence chamber he was met with crossed pikes, forbidden entry until his guard of twenty stood down their weapons. She hears the steel in his voice, calling in to the King from the threshold, and her heart beats tabor-fast with his.
‘Your Grace, gladly will I surrender my sword to you, but my enemies have spoken against me to my king and, until I know who they are, you must excuse that I come armed.’
The tumult of the room rises in her own ears, and then comes the King’s querulous voice.
‘Let him come in. I have nothing to fear from my cousin of York.’
