"The prince?" she whispered.

York paused and regarded her. Now she looked vulnerable and young. "The prince as well," he said slowly. "But once you reach Windsor, you will not leave."

"You can't do that," she replied rising. "I am queen."

"It is not seemly for a woman to meddle in government as you have done, my lady. You should spend your days with your baby and your husband. That is your place."

Marguerite stamped her foot. The baby prince woke up from his brief slumber and wailed.

"How dare you insult me in this fashion!"

"No one wants you to be queen, my lady," replied York. "Saving, of course, yourself."

He paused again and looked at her. She was as willful as Cecylee, but unlike his wife, York found that he did not care for her at all. Strange, for she was a handsome woman. "You will do as I tell you. This country is in a grievous state thanks to you. Now you will rest at Windsor and mind your family, as a good wife should."

He turned to go.

"I'll not consent to this!" screamed Marguerite. "You cannot treat your queen thus! I will not have it!"

York sighed and signaled to his marshal, who nodded. Several more guards entered Marguerite's chamber.

"I do not like to force a lady, but you give me no choice."

The guards surrounded the chamber, and one of them plucked the baby prince from Marguerite's arms and handed it to a nursemaid.

Marguerite screamed so loudly that Richard wanted to cover his ears. As his men hesitated, he nodded again. A couple of guards took her by the arms and dragged her away.

"I'll not forget this!" she shrieked. "I'll never forgive this outrage!"

"We have not a moment to lose," said York as he took his seat as the head of the king's council.

"Indeed," replied Salisbury. "There are the Percies in the North still harrying our lands. Something needs to be done to curb their quarrelsome nature."

"There is the matter of the Crown's finances," said York. "We need to make adequate provision for the king's household without incurring further debts or draining the exchequer."

"The position of Archbishop of Canterbury lies vacant," put in Warwick.

York leaned back in his seat. "I've thought of that. It's vital we have someone reliable and loyal to our affinity."

"Whom do you propose?" asked Norfolk.

"Thomas Bourchier, the Bishop of Ely, would be a fine candidate. He's brother to my sister's husband, Viscount Henry Bourchier."

The lords deliberated on this matter for some time, but finally agreed that my lord of York's choice was sound.

"What mean you to do about the Percies?" asked Warwick.

"I shall visit them next month," replied York. "While I am away, you, my lord of Salisbury, will manage affairs in London."

Salisbury smiled and nodded. One of Richard's first acts upon becoming regent was to install Salisbury as Chancellor of England.

"There is also Lancastrian disaffection in the north and the west, provoked by Exeter," remarked Warwick. "He must be curbed."

York winced. Nan's husband was proving to be difficult to handle. Moreover, Cecylee had returned from the Queen's churching ceremony brokenhearted, convinced Exeter was brutalizing their daughter, and had taken to her bed. Nothing Richard could say would comfort her. Only his successes of the past several months had caused her to smile at him again. Richard regretted once again arranging that marriage with Exeter. Exeter spelled trouble. He should be watched.

Richard said aloud, "I think it would be prudent to hold my lord of Exeter at Pontefract."

"But he's your son-in-law," exclaimed Salisbury.

"That may be. But he does not act as kin. His allegiance is to the Court Party, and he has made that very clear to me on a number of occasions. I do not have much choice. Exeter is dangerous."

Warwick nodded. "Holding Exeter at Pontefract does make him a hostage for the good behavior of his affinity."

Chapter 32.

November 1454 "What is the news from France?"

Cecylee distracted herself by talking to the French Amba.s.sador. The king's Lancastrian supporters surrounded her, eying her warily. These days, she spent all of her time at court, entertaining foreign diplomats. Fifteen months had pa.s.sed since the king had fallen into his strange state, but he showed no sign of coming out of it. Joan, Nan, Henry, Edward, Edmund, Beth, Margaret, William, John, George, Thomas, Richard, murmured Cecylee to herself, as she walked along the corridors. She found that living in Marguerite's magnificent palace of Placentia, wearing bejeweled dresses, and being treated as queen could not stem her sadness, nor stop her sleepless nights. Every time she turned around, something happened to rub her wound raw. Jacquetta, d.u.c.h.ess of Bedford, had just left this very room after telling her that Nan would bear a child in the spring.

Cecylee had listened calmly, but as soon as she left, motioned to the French Amba.s.sador to sit beside her.

"Ah, my lady York, the news is not so good."

Cecylee raised her eyebrows politely as she signaled for wine. If Nan were expecting a child in the spring, then she would be a grandmother before she turned forty.

"Do you mean that matters between King Charles of France and his son, the Dauphin Louis, have gone awry?"

The amba.s.sador sighed. "You are too well informed, madam. Indeed it is a matter of grave disquiet that the king and his heir do not see matters in the same light."

How would Nan fare without her mother to help her? Cecylee leaned forward.

"Is it possible that matters might get worse?"

"I hope not, madam."

She sighed. Perhaps families were difficult for everyone.

"I think I can speak for my husband as well as myself when I say that I hope matters will mend in France. But what is your opinion of the situation?"

The amba.s.sador coughed. "I know that many are anxious to prevent war."

She studied him for a moment. War. That was a strong word for a family quarrel. "So the king would send an army against his son?"

The amba.s.sador recoiled. "I did not say that, madam."

"No you did not," replied Cecylee, signaling for a servant to refill the amba.s.sador's wine cup. She would have to find a way of sending Jenet with a basket of herbs and things for her daughter's lying-in. "But it is a possibility?"

The amba.s.sador sipped and coughed again, putting his cup down to speak. The arrival of her nephew Humphrey, Earl of Stafford, Anne's eldest son, interrupted them.

"My wife has given me a son," he exclaimed.

Cecylee started, jolted out of her thoughts. She signaled to the servants to refill the wine cups.

"Congratulations, my lord," she said, handing him a br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup. The Buckingham line would be secure. Cecylee kept her celebrations from seeming too joyful, however, as the Staffords were staunch Lancastrians. She silently wished she could be delighted by the birth of Nan's child. Perhaps it would not be a good idea to send Jenet to her. She needed to send someone who did not obviously come from herself, as such overtures would be unwelcome. She repressed the now familiar p.r.i.c.king of tears and looked up.

The lords eyed her.

"How have you named the child?" enquired someone.

"We have named him Henry, after the king," replied Stafford with a smile.

"Let us drink to that," shouted another. And before she could open her mouth, they raised their wine cups. "To the king!" they roared.

Cecylee drank also, hoping the gesture would be appreciated by Richard's rivals. As she took the wine cup away from her lips, she became aware of someone in the doorway.

It was Richard. He entered the room slowly, followed by Salisbury and Warwick. Many pairs of eyes in silence watched the triumvirate that now governed England. Richard took a wine cup offered to him by a servant, raised it, and said, "Congratulations, Stafford, on the birth of your son. To Henry."

The others raised their goblets and drank again.

There was an awkward pause.

"My lords," said York setting his wine cup down. "I request that you draw up ordinances for the reduction and reform of the king's household."

"What ordinances?" snapped Buckingham, not moved by the toast to his grandson.

"I have to reduce costs to avoid draining the exchequer."

"You have to-poppyc.o.c.k. This is aimed at our lady queen."

"Everyone will be affected," replied York. "There is no avoiding that."

"You must see, my lord of Buckingham, that the Crown has no money," put in Cecylee. "No one likes reducing costs. But it must be done."

Buckingham snorted.

"Our households are to be cut," said Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, who stood there with his brother Jasper, Earl of Pembroke.

"And we are half-brothers to the king," put in Pembroke. "Our households will be only seven in number under my lord of York's plan. An entourage only equal to that of the king's confessor."

"How can you allow that?" exclaimed Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. "It's a disgrace!"

"We agree with my lord of York that such reforms are in our sovereign brother's interests," said Richmond.

"Otherwise, he would be dest.i.tute," said Pembroke. "Surely you've not forgotten the time when our sovereign king and his lady queen sat down to a feast at Epiphany only to be told by their steward there was no food to be had?"

Cecylee glanced at Richard, who was standing there silently. This cannot be easy for him, she thought. He has to be so patient.

Richard cleared his throat.

"I want you all to know that I have removed Exeter to Pontefract. He will stay there to cool his heels for a while."

Cecylee breathed deeply and smiled. Maybe I can be with Nan after all. She drew herself up and looked around her. The lords were standing there, stony-faced. "Let us pray," she said slowly, "that such reforms as my lord has wisely proposed be acceptable to all, for they are very necessary to the good governance of this realm."

Chapter 33.

Feast of the Christ Child Westminster Palace, London December 25, 1454 Richard of York rose in his seat, lifted his wine cup high and toasted the king's health.

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee and everyone else followed, saluting the king at a formal banquet that was hosted by York as part of the festivities for the Feast of the Christ Child.

Cecylee had just put her wine cup down and turned to congratulate Richard on the efforts he was making when a messenger rushed in.

"The king awakens. He awakens!"

A roar erupted as everyone rose to their feet and eyed one another. Without further ado, the entire court abandoned the Christmas feast and rushed to the stables calling for their favorite horses. Meanwhile, servants appeared with mantles of sable, fur-lined hoods, gloves, and boots to protect everyone from the winter weather.

It took the rest of the day to ride the thirty or so miles from the Palace of Westminster, where Christmas Court was held, to Windsor Castle, where the King was in residence. The entire court came in a rush upon the royal family.

The king sat in a high backed chair, smiling vaguely.

The queen knelt before him, holding her fourteen-month-old son edouard. "See what a fine son you have, my King," she said.

"This child is heaven-sent," replied King Henry in a low, clear voice. "His birth must have been a miracle of the Holy Spirit."

The queen's face was a picture. She searched her husband's face, her own puckered in bewilderment. The entire court exploded into laughter. Truly, King Henry had returned to the land of the living, for only he would make such a p.r.o.nouncement.

There was an awkward silence, then Warwick strode up. "This so-called prince," said he, jabbing a finger at the infant on Marguerite's lap, "is no son of yours, Sire." He bowed low before King Henry, then turned to face the entire court. "He's Somerset's son."

A roar of noise broke. Marguerite rose, clutching the child to her, who bawled l.u.s.tily. "How dare you!" she hissed, spitting at Warwick, who took a step backwards. "You slander me with your lies, with your defamation. But I fight!"

She looked around the room. "I will fight you all if I have to!" She stormed out.

Cecylee was stunned. She knew the queen and Somerset were lovers, for Richard had told her about his visit when, as the newly-made Lord Protector of England, he had shut Somerset in the Tower and banished Marguerite to Windsor. Somerset had been holding the baby as if he were his own, and Richard repeated their conversation, complete with lover's words.

Now Marguerite displayed no guilt at her actions. Cecylee's never-quite-dormant anger welled up. How dare Richard manipulate her to feel guilty for her one night of sin? How dare he make her feel like an animal in a cage? She would be taken out for a petting once in a while, but if she bit, she would be thrust back in her cage, and the door slammed shut.

Cecylee took breath, and closed her eyes. What would happen now? Richard was no longer regent. She was no longer queen.