Thwarted Queen Part 20

She rose. "I insist that you tell me."

"It sounded like someone screaming."

Chapter 23.

London Late November 1450 Richard pulled his palfrey to a halt and turned his head at the clarion call. There it came again, and again. As the notes died away, Richard's ear caught the thunder of hooves, and around a bend in the road came a large group of riders bearing the badge of the lion. John de Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, had arrived as promised on the outskirts of London.

"Well met, nephew Norfolk." York clasped hands with his powerful nephew-in-law, the son of Cecylee's sister Cath. As premier Duke of the Realm, Norfolk's opinion counted.

"How is your lady wife?"

"She is recovering from the birth of our son Thomas," replied Richard, nudging his horse into a trot beside Norfolk's. "The child is sickly, and Cecylee spends every waking hour nursing him."

The horses' breath rose up in a steam in the chill November air. It was two months since Richard had hurried back from Ireland to confront his cousin over the mismanagement of affairs in France. Henry had bowed to York's wishes and summoned Parliament to meet in London on November sixth.

As the procession wound its way through the narrow streets of London, the people of London opened their upstairs windows to look down on them. These upper rooms jutted out over the lower ones, and were so close in places that it was possible for two lovers on opposite sides of the street to hold hands. When the people saw York, they took up his cry: "A York! A York! A York!"

"I see you are popular with the people", murmured Norfolk. "How many men did you bring?"

"Three thousand."

"A goodly number. I brought a similar number myself." He motioned for one of his men to dismount and knock at the nearest house.

Presently, the cas.e.m.e.nt window above was thrust open, and a dame with an elaborately starched white headdress, setting off her rosy cheeks, looked down on their company.

"I have no rooms, good sir," she said, when Norfolk's man explained what he wanted. "This house and all of the surrounding ones are taken by men of my lord of Somerset's affinity."

"There's not a bed to be had between here and Whitechapel!" exclaimed another woman, opening the cas.e.m.e.nt opposite. "London's an armed camp. Why every fellow who fancies he can wield a stick has come here."

A child scampered into the street. York pulled on the bit so savagely, his horse reared. He quickly brought it under control. The child ran away unharmed.

"Holy Mother be blessed," said a dame, turning her head. " 'Tis indeed my lord of York. Good e'en to you, sir." She dropped a low curtsey that made her head disappear below the sill of the open window. "May G.o.d prosper your cause."

York smiled and waved. "Did you hear what she said? I must find Somerset."

"Is that wise?"

"A York! A York!" chanted the people, thrusting open their cas.e.m.e.nts and leaning over the procession.

"Garday loo!" shouted a maid as she prepared to heave a bucket of slops out of the window. "'Tis my lord of York," hissed her mistress. "Wait."

"Thank you, good madam," said Norfolk, inclining his head.

"Save your wastewater for Somerset!" shouted a voice across the way.

The crowd erupted into cheers and guffaws.

"We must do something about the money woes of this country," said Richard, pacing up and down.

"Certainly, my lord," replied Sir William Oldhall, picking up his pen. Richard had known Sir William for years, first as a councilor in Normandy, and latterly as his chamberlain. The House of Commons had demonstrated their support of York by recently electing Sir William to be their Speaker.

"The king's councilors are prepared to discuss fixing the income for the royal household," said Richard. "But we need to go further. I propose that we pa.s.s an Act of Resumption that returns the huge swaths of land the king has given away to his favorites for the past thirteen years."

Sir William stroked his beard.

Richard smiled. Sir William was a wealthy Norfolk landowner with powerful friends and relations. "Find out if public opinion would support this demand."

Sir William rose. "We should also get a promise from the king to restore law and order in the s.h.i.+res." He bowed and left.

"The seamstress has arrived with your gown," said Eleanor, now d.u.c.h.ess of Somerset, curtseying low before the queen.

Marguerite motioned her friend to rise.

Eleanor slowly straightened but would not meet the Queen's eye.

Marguerite sighed. Eleanor had been so kind when she'd first come to England, lending her money so that she could pay her sailors. But as her relations.h.i.+p with the Duke of Somerset had grown closer, the friends.h.i.+p with his wife deteriorated.

Marguerite could not really blame her. Like most aristocratic ladies, Eleanor had been married off as a child, but when her husband died, leaving her a widow at the age of twenty-three, she'd fallen in love with Somerset and married him secretly. But recently, Queen Marguerite had turned to her dearest cousin Somerset. Her great friend, the Earl of Suffolk, had been murdered that spring, and the queen needed someone to take his place in her counsels and as leader of the Court Party. She and Somerset saw each other every day, and he was beginning to look at her- Marguerite never allowed herself to criticize her husband. She placed him in a special category, for he was like no man she'd ever known. Every day, he devoted himself to his prayers and to his charities. He was the most kind-hearted and sweetest-tempered lord, denying her nothing. Except that he would not, could not, Marguerite corrected herself, give her a child after five years of marriage. And she so longed for a baby, not only for political reasons, but for herself. If only she could have a son, York would be put in his place, for he would no longer be heir presumptive. And if not the king, then who? Marguerite smiled until her gaze landed on Eleanor. She bit her lip as her lady-in-waiting gently put the purple velvet gown embroidered in crimson thread over her head.

Eleanor gave Marguerite her mirror and stood beside her to study the effect of the gown. It set off Marguerite's sculpted profile and made her look much older than her twenty-one years. Marguerite sighed as she studied her face in the mirror, noting a couple of lines around her mouth. "How old I look. Don't you think so, Eleanor?"

Eleanor, who was some twenty years older than the Queen, glanced at her mistress, then turned and gathered up the Queen's discarded gowns. Marguerite looked glorious, but she wasn't going to tell her that. She too had noticed the way her husband looked at the queen. "It is true you have not the freshness you had when first you came to this land five years ago," she said. "But you have been sorely tried, my lady. Especially this year."

Marguerite caught her friend's hand as she pa.s.sed by. "You are so good to me, Eleanor. I do not understand why."

Eleanor reddened as she averted her face. She turned to the queen's dressing table and busied herself with clearing it, putting the stoppers back on the jars of rosewater, lavender water, and angelica water.

There was silence.

"How I miss Suffolk," sighed Marguerite.

"Have they apprehended the villains?"

"No, no. It is all York's doing. He is so powerful, he can do as he pleases. All he wants is to create trouble for me, and my most redoubted lord, the king."

"The government of this country should not ignore the people of England!" exclaimed York.

The cheering was so loud, it nearly lifted off the hammer-beam roof of Westminster Hall. On that cold and chilly November morning, the temperature inside the hall rose as more and more people squeezed in to hear what York was saying. a.s.sembled at one end of the hall were the great magnates of the land at the high table on the dais. Around the walls and packed several men deep stood the men-at-arms with their quarterstaffs, their badges clearly showing their affinities.

Richard of York stood before the lords in front of the dais, half turned to face the people who were crowding into the hall below. There was a little s.p.a.ce between the steps that led down from the dais and the body of the hall. In the front row stood all the important citizens of London, including the lord mayor and his wife and several prominent merchants with their wives. Behind these people were the people of London, looking expectantly at the almost stout figure with a forked beard pointing his finger at the lords on the dais.

"I tell you, the people make reasonable demands," continued Richard. "It is folly to tax them so heavily while royal favorites are richly rewarded. And not only that, these men - already bloated with wealth beyond the wildest dreams of any poor plowman or widow - do not have to pay taxes. Where is the sense in that? The country needs money, and so it should tax its richest citizens."

York's voice was drowned out in cheers.

"I ask this parliament to pa.s.s the Act of Resumption that requires royal favorites to return the land they have been given these past thirteen years, so that the value of this land may be used to get this country out of financial ruin."

Nan's husband rose. "My lord of York, you have given a most interesting speech. But I don't think you can expect these lands to be returned. It would be like asking your lady wife to return a present you'd given her."

Exeter laughed and the other lords laughed with him.

"I think we can dismiss these complaints," he continued. "They are trivial. What does an unwashed peasant know of land husbandry? I tell you these lands are in good hands, and they should remain so."

"You should not dismiss the concerns of the people so lightly," said York, reddening. He glared at Exeter. But Exeter ignored him.

"You should not be questioning the king's judgment," he remarked, smiling. "What makes you think you know better than our king?"

The hall buzzed like a hive of angry bees.

"What of the traitors?" bellowed someone.

"What about the loss of Normandy?" shouted another.

"Impeach Somerset!" cried a third.

At this, the men-at-arms providing protection for the n.o.ble families brandished weapons and shouted: "Give us Justice! Punish the Traitors! Give us Justice! Punish the traitors!"

Their voices echoed around that huge room, soaring up to the hammer-beams built in the time of Richard II and dropping down to the old stone walls built in the time of William II.

Richard of York pointed his finger at the lords. "I demand that you impeach Somerset. Now."

Marguerite bit her lip. From her chamber in Westminster, she heard the roar of the crowd. No doubt, York stirred more trouble. She wished she were back in France. Her youth seemed so golden and faraway, a lost time that tugged at her heart. How could people who smelled so bad she wanted to retch, who went around with lice-infested hair, open boils, and unseemly rags make things so difficult? Marguerite could not understand why anyone would bother to listen to them. Yet her husband was afraid of them, and York manipulated their opinions to his own advantage.

She must have spoken aloud, for Eleanor made sympathetic murmurs as she folded up the queen's gowns.

"It's so lonely being queen," said Marguerite, looking out of the mullioned windows at the grey, pillow-shaped clouds, that were scattering flakes of snow as if they were goose-down feathers.

"You are not alone!" exclaimed Eleanor, turning and glaring. "Your husband, the king, indulges your every whim. And you have my Somerset."

Marguerite stared. She had never heard Eleanor speak so disrespectfully. She opened her mouth to say something when Eleanor interrupted. "My Somerset," she said, pointing her finger at the queen, "is devoted to you. He would do anything you asked. Anything."

"My Queen."

Marguerite turned, and Somerset came swiftly forward. He knelt and brushed her hand with his lips. Marguerite's mouth curved into a smile, regarding her friend. Though he was old enough to be her father, Edmund Beaufort, now Duke of Somerset, had the looks and manner of a much younger man. She was so absorbed in gazing into his eyes, she barely noticed Eleanor whisking out of the room with nary a curtsey.

Somerset arched an eyebrow as he rose. "You seem troubled, my love."

"York is giving a speech before the Commons today."

"Ah."

Marguerite moved closer and placed her hands within his. "I fear for you, dearest cousin. I fear that he will try to destroy you." A tear ran down her cheek.

Somerset brushed the tear away with his finger and stooped to kiss her cheek. "York cannot touch me: I have your favor and the favor of the king."

"But he will try," said Marguerite, lifting her face to his.

He bent down and kissed her slowly on the lips.

A sound of mailed feet made them turn. A detachment of guards rushed into the room, followed by the Constable of the Tower, who unrolled a parchment.

"My Lord of Somerset, I hereby arrest you on charges of treason. I am bidden to take you to the Tower forthwith."

Marguerite recoiled. "You cannot do this."

"I have Parliament's authority," replied the constable, as the guards seized Somerset.

"I am your queen!" shrieked Marguerite.

But the constable merely bowed and escorted Somerset out.

Marguerite sank down onto a window seat, sobbing. She could not understand it. How could Parliament have more power than the queen?

Sir William Oldhall rose to his feet. "To the Duke of York!" he exclaimed, holding his wine cup high. "Today, he has set England on the right course-with the Duke of Somerset shut up in the Tower."

Applause and cheers came from the a.s.sembled company of merchants and n.o.blemen finis.h.i.+ng the splendid feast provided by the wealthy merchant who'd rented out his house to the Duke during his stay in London.

"Sir William Oldhall, My Lord Mayor of London, and Master Simon Eyre, who graciously provided his house to me and this feast for us today, I thank you for your hospitality and for your vote of confidence in me. We have much to do to root out corruption and waste in this land."

Richard told the a.s.sembled gathering about his plans: How he wanted to raise revenues by cutting waste, rather than taxing the poor. How he wanted to bring justice back into the land so that murderers could not escape their crimes by bribing local juries. As he spoke, people nodded. They smiled. Their confidence stoked his excitement. "We have impeached Somerset," he said, "and now let us turn our attention to other members of the Court Party who have profited so unscrupulously at the expense of the country-"

"There was a duke who went to the Tower, Inducas," sang the crowd outside, making Richard stop.

"Who loved a queen full many a day, in temptationibus," the crowd sang on, their voices m.u.f.fled by the glazing in the windows.

"This queen was l.u.s.ty, proper and young, Inducas "She offered the duke a way out of jail, in temptationibus."

Richard strode to the window. Chairs sc.r.a.ped as the a.s.sembled company rose hastily and followed, thrusting open the cas.e.m.e.nts. The crowd bubbled with shy merriment as they recognized Richard of York: Hey hey, fiddle-de-dee What kind of queen have we?

Loyal, loyal to those she loves And she loves this duke.

Hey hey, fiddle de dee What'll happen tonight think we?

Jump jump, jump into bed And cuddle and kiss- "Good people, what is this?" called Richard down to the crowd.

"Your bird has flown, my lord Duke!" shouted someone.

"Queen's got her lover back!" shouted another.

A messenger rode up and reined in sharply. The horse quivered, its flanks still damp from exertion. It snorted through its nostrils, sending great puffs of steam into the air. "I've come from the Tower!" he shouted, gasping for breath. "My lady queen went to the king and prevailed upon him to set Somerset free."