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Back Cecily Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Author’s Note
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. Epilogue
  56. Afterword
  57. Acknowledgements
  58. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Across the green an anvil is being dragged from the burning smithy and soldiers are driving men, men of her household she’d ordered disarmed and stood down, towards it. They take the first of them and push his head to the metal. She watches the hammer swing once and turns aside. And there, running for the gate, is little Jane Malpas. Her coif is gone and her dark hair streams behind her, until a fist reaches for it and pulls her down. Then she’s on the ground and a soldier astride her, flipping her on to her belly and pulling at her skirts with one hand, the other still fisted in her hair, while others grab her arms and legs, jeering and fumbling at their crotches, eager for their turn.

She reaches again for George, lays a hand over his eyes, but he pulls away, his gaze fixed in fascinated horror.

‘Get away!’ she hisses, repulsed, and pushes him towards the bed.

When she looks to the window again, there’s Henry Beaufort, riding calm through the melee, his visor up, teeth bared. Beneath her window, he stops. She pulls aside so he can’t see her.

‘Are you watching?’ he yells up. ‘York’s bitch? Tell your husband.’ He raises an arm to signal all behind him. ‘Payment for my father.’

She staggers back to the bed, Margaret reaches for her hand. She takes it, gathers her children to her again, and hides her face from their sight.

She has no idea how long it goes on but, at last, night falls. The boys are asleep and Margaret’s lips move in silent prayer. Her heart is quiet and cold. The only sounds now are of drunkenness, and somewhere, far off in the night, a woman keening.

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41

October–November 1459

Maxstoke

Her sister Anne is a gentle enough gaoler. Cecily is given rooms for herself and her children; a maid to wait on them. They have food, clean clothes. There is wood for the fires. She’s warm as she feared she never would be again after three days in that bitter room, watching from the window as Ludlow’s castle was emptied. Its hangings and tapestries, its plate, linens and furniture. Richard’s things and hers, her sons’, all inventoried, packed on to carts and rolled away. The rampage was over the first night, the bodies cleared next morning. The rest was stocktaking. The parcelling up of all York has and is, so that it can be given to others.