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Book: Cicely's King Richard (Cicely Plantagenet Trilogy) by Sandra Heath Wilson
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Authors: Sandra Heath Wilson
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reconciled, and England will look forward to peaceful prosperity.’
By now Elizabeth began to see the advantage of such a marriage, for she would again be the mother of a monarch with all the wealth and power she craved. On such a surge of renewed ambition, it was only too easy to be convinced that the country as a whole would, after all, rise against Richard. As she penned her letter of consent she wept for her lost sons, feeling special remorse about the little Duke of York, for if she had not wanted to create an impression in front of the Council, he would still be here with her.
Lady Stanley hastily sanded the letter, and the moment Elizabeth had appended her seal, departed with almost indecent haste, lest Elizabeth demand the names of the other conspirators and so-called witnesses.
When October came, Buckingham’s revolt was quashed, not only by Richard but by the weather, which put the rivers Severn and Wye in flood and prevented the duke and his army from crossing into England. Buckingham was captured and beheaded. The speed with which Richard disposed of this second attack upon his authority unnerved those others who plotted against him. But he was again too lenient. John Welles, Margaret’s half-brother, was arrested, deprived of his lands, and then freed. Henry Tudor himself did not even disembark from his ship. He came within shouting distance of the shore, where Richard’s soldiers shouted they were friends come to conduct him to London in triumph. But the wary Henry, suitor to Bess’s hand and seeker of Richard’s throne, sensed the trap as surely as does a wild animal, and remained safely aboard his ship. He sailed back to Brittany to wait once again.
Richard returned in triumph to his capital, supreme and safe upon his throne. It was to be February 1484, just before Cicely’s fifteenth birthday, that he at last came to the abbey in person.
Chapter Six
Cicely’s nightmare of being trampled by a horse awakened her with a start. She sat up and pushed her hair back from her forehead. Jesu, what a horrible dream. She was hot, her skin was damp, and she felt as if something momentous was about to happen. Something that would change her life forever. It was an astonishing feeling, almost shattering, and it made her heart pound.
Bess sighed in her sleep and turned over, but Cicely’s attention was suddenly drawn to the window because she heard the sound of flesh-and-blood horses in the courtyard. Curious, she slipped from the bed, pulled on her warm robe and carried a small table to the window. Standing on it, she was able to ease herself on to the ledge and then open the glass to lean out to the cold air of the February night. Men were talking and stamping their feet and now she could hear the horses more clearly. She could smell them too, that warm, sweet animal scent she had always loved—even though horses did not love her, and she was a barely adequate rider.
It was snowing, and there was already a blanket of white on the ground. Edging forward a little more, to see into the courtyard, she saw the horses and men. Two lanterns swayed and guttered, and apart from the dozen or so men on foot, she saw two more huddled figures on mounts, well wrapped against the cold. As the men slapped their arms around themselves and cursed the season, she noticed a large dappled stallion by a small door into the abbey. Then the banners caught her attention—the white boar cognizance of the king himself!
Gasping, she wriggled back into the room. Fearful thoughts chased through her panic-stricken mind. He had come to take them, to force them out under the cover of darkness and snow, to imprison them in the depths of the Tower as he had imprisoned and then killed her brothers! Forgetting Bess, she fled across the room in her bare feet and out into the torch-lit passage. Her flying feet were taking her to her mother’s apartment when she saw her uncle.
He was coming up the stone staircase that led to their refuge.
By now Elizabeth began to see the advantage of such a marriage, for she would again be the mother of a monarch with all the wealth and power she craved. On such a surge of renewed ambition, it was only too easy to be convinced that the country as a whole would, after all, rise against Richard. As she penned her letter of consent she wept for her lost sons, feeling special remorse about the little Duke of York, for if she had not wanted to create an impression in front of the Council, he would still be here with her.
Lady Stanley hastily sanded the letter, and the moment Elizabeth had appended her seal, departed with almost indecent haste, lest Elizabeth demand the names of the other conspirators and so-called witnesses.
When October came, Buckingham’s revolt was quashed, not only by Richard but by the weather, which put the rivers Severn and Wye in flood and prevented the duke and his army from crossing into England. Buckingham was captured and beheaded. The speed with which Richard disposed of this second attack upon his authority unnerved those others who plotted against him. But he was again too lenient. John Welles, Margaret’s half-brother, was arrested, deprived of his lands, and then freed. Henry Tudor himself did not even disembark from his ship. He came within shouting distance of the shore, where Richard’s soldiers shouted they were friends come to conduct him to London in triumph. But the wary Henry, suitor to Bess’s hand and seeker of Richard’s throne, sensed the trap as surely as does a wild animal, and remained safely aboard his ship. He sailed back to Brittany to wait once again.
Richard returned in triumph to his capital, supreme and safe upon his throne. It was to be February 1484, just before Cicely’s fifteenth birthday, that he at last came to the abbey in person.
Chapter Six
Cicely’s nightmare of being trampled by a horse awakened her with a start. She sat up and pushed her hair back from her forehead. Jesu, what a horrible dream. She was hot, her skin was damp, and she felt as if something momentous was about to happen. Something that would change her life forever. It was an astonishing feeling, almost shattering, and it made her heart pound.
Bess sighed in her sleep and turned over, but Cicely’s attention was suddenly drawn to the window because she heard the sound of flesh-and-blood horses in the courtyard. Curious, she slipped from the bed, pulled on her warm robe and carried a small table to the window. Standing on it, she was able to ease herself on to the ledge and then open the glass to lean out to the cold air of the February night. Men were talking and stamping their feet and now she could hear the horses more clearly. She could smell them too, that warm, sweet animal scent she had always loved—even though horses did not love her, and she was a barely adequate rider.
It was snowing, and there was already a blanket of white on the ground. Edging forward a little more, to see into the courtyard, she saw the horses and men. Two lanterns swayed and guttered, and apart from the dozen or so men on foot, she saw two more huddled figures on mounts, well wrapped against the cold. As the men slapped their arms around themselves and cursed the season, she noticed a large dappled stallion by a small door into the abbey. Then the banners caught her attention—the white boar cognizance of the king himself!
Gasping, she wriggled back into the room. Fearful thoughts chased through her panic-stricken mind. He had come to take them, to force them out under the cover of darkness and snow, to imprison them in the depths of the Tower as he had imprisoned and then killed her brothers! Forgetting Bess, she fled across the room in her bare feet and out into the torch-lit passage. Her flying feet were taking her to her mother’s apartment when she saw her uncle.
He was coming up the stone staircase that led to their refuge.
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