"Why not?"

Edward shushed him with a wave of his hand. "I expressly forbid you," he said loudly into the dead silence that followed, "to marry your cousin Bella."

"It's not right!" exclaimed George. "You block me at every turn. You prevented my marriage to Mary of Burgundy. Now you won't let me marry Bella. Just because you've married a wh.o.r.e yourself doesn't mean you can prevent me from making a good match."

Edward went white. "You will apologize," he said in a voice that cut like a knife.

George glared at him as Warwick went to stand by his side.

Edward put his hand on the Serpent's shoulder. "You are talking of my wife, your liege lady, and my Queen."

The Serpent covered his hand with her own and turned to smile up at him. They were a fortress together against the rest of the world. How had I failed in my attempts to pry Edward away from the Serpent?

My belly filling with ice, slowly, I stood.

Gradually, everyone in the room turned to stare at me.

"I am displeased with you, my son," I said. My voice rang like a bell in the thick silence. "You have grievously offended your family, your cousin Warwick, your brothers George and Richard, and your mother. I am deeply hurt by what you have done. All my life, I have supported and cherished you, yet how do you repay me?" I paused and jabbed my finger at the Serpent: "By marrying someone who is not worthy."

Edward flushed and took a step towards me. He said loudly, "She is worthy, Mother."

I lifted my chin and stared him down. "She is a canker in the House of York. She is destroying it even as we speak."

Edward narrowed his eyes and went pale. The silence was deafening.

"I am disappointed. I thought you once worthy to be my lord husband's heir. Instead, I see you betray your father's low origins."

There was a swelling murmur as folk turned to each other and whispered.

"My father was the Duke of York."

"Your father," said I, my voice tinkling like ice, "was an archer on the Rouen garrison. His name was Blaybourne. His father, your grandsire, was not even a knight, but a humble blacksmith-"

"You lie!" roared Edward, coming towards me.

"I do not," I replied. I turned to face everyone in the room. "I am willing to go before a public enquiry to answer any questions, even to swear an oath on Holy Writ or saint's bones or a vial of the most precious blood of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, that what I say is most true. This man," I indicated Edward, "Is a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He is a fraud and an impostor, and I have made him so, for I loved and dedicated my life to him."

My voice broke. How I had loved Blaybourne. How I had allowed Edward's likeness to my lover to blind me to his faults.

"I see now how wrong I was. For you cannot make a n.o.ble out of dross. He is my child, yes, but no blood relation to the Duke of York, my late husband."

My voice rose at the end of this speech. I felt someone beside me. It was Richard.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, his blue-grey eyes cloudy with distress.

Was he worried about his own paternity? I would set the record straight.

"The true heir to the throne of England is my son George, followed in succession by his younger brother Richard. They are my lord husband's legitimate heirs."

My voice rang eerily through that packed chamber. I paused for a moment, then allowed Richard to lead me to my rooms.

The last thing I remember just before the door shut was a tableau of Edward, white and shaking on one side of the room, and George, standing proud and tall on the other side of the room, his blue-green eyes blazing with excitement.

Chapter 57.

December 1468 to March 1469 Within the hour, I left for Fotheringhay. It was time for me to retire and lead a life of quiet contemplation.

They came for me in March.

I was standing in the collegiate church of Fotheringhay, talking to the glazier who had just finished beautifying the windows at my direction.

"We come from the king!" someone shouted.

I ignored this individual, for I was not accustomed to being greeted in such a rough manner.

My steward appeared, breathless from running. "They say they are from the king, madam." He bowed.

I turned and fixed the churls with an icy stare. There were ten of them, dressed simply, in leather jerkins and nondescript woolen clothing. They carried quarter-staves and sported daggers in their belts. They looked like the sort of rude men-of-arms one would use to garrison a castle, not deal with a great lady. The person with the loud voice took a scroll out of his leather bag, unrolled it, and declaimed as follows: From Edward, King of England, to Cecylee, d.u.c.h.ess of York, Greetings.

I, Edward, King of England, do arrest you, Cecylee d.u.c.h.ess of York, on the charge of treason for bruiting abroad scurrilous rumors about my person. I command you, therefore, to follow these men to Berkhamsted, where I shall confine you under armed guard for the rest of your life.

I frowned. Before I could make sense of this, one of the churls grabbed my arm. "It is time to go, my fine lady."

I shook him off.

"We have orders to escort you to Berkhamsted."

"Impossible. I cannot go now. And be so good as to take your filthy paw off my arm."

The men guffawed. "I see you are not called Proud Cis for nothing," one of them remarked.

"Proud Cis! Proud Cis! Proud Cis!" chanted the others.

A cold wind blew, and my flesh hardened into ice. If these men truly were from Edward, it meant there was nothing he might not do to insult and humiliate me.

"I demand to see the warrant," I said, my voice high.

The men laughed again. "Quite a mouse we have here," remarked one wit.

My steward stood in front of them. "You are insulting the king's mother."

The loud-mouthed man curled his lip. "If she tears it up and burns it, let her know that I have other copies, signed and sealed by the king's hand."

I took the warrant from my steward and scanned it. It was signed by Edward, I recognized his writing and his seal.

I crumpled onto a stone seat. "What about my household?"

"The king, your son, declares that you will do without a household. You are to leave forthwith. He will brook no delay."

I left Fotheringhay, the home that Richard and I had made together for over twenty years, to the sounds of my household weeping. They did at least allow me to ride my best palfrey and to wrap myself up in furs to keep out the cold. But the weather was bitter with icy winds by day and frosts by night. As I rode the eighty miles to Berkhamsted in Hertfordshire, I wondered if I would die from cold, damp, sorrow, and humiliation. Bitterly did I regret my words. Far from abandoning Edward, the Serpent had drawn even closer and connived to send me to Berkhamsted in disgrace.

At length, we arrived. My head reverberated with the sound of the Serpent's brittle laughter as I looked around. The towers leaned and the roof over the great hall had fallen in. My rough escorts left me in the muddy courtyard, sitting bedraggled on my coffer. It was sleeting hard. They took my horse away and drew straws to determine who would guard me while the others foraged.

The dull afternoon was darkening slowly when, through lines of sleet, a black shape came into view. I stiffened. Was this figure Death? Had my lord Richard come for me? Or was it one of the men, determined to humiliate me further?

"My lady," said the figure in a high voice, "my name is Ghislaine." She curtseyed low, muddying her skirts as she did so.

I beckoned and the figure let down her hood. She was a finely made girl of around twelve or so with delicate pale features and grey eyes.

"Child, what are you doing here?"

"My parents are gone, so I must find my own keep," she replied. "The sisters at the convent of Ashridge took me on as a maid. They asked me to walk over here, to see if you needed anything."

I took breath. Ghislaine's pale face surrounded by wisps of hair beaded with moisture, and her patched clothes stirred a memory. Hadn't Blaybourne said that he was turned out of his home at the age of seven, no one willing to look after him?

I sat upright on my seat and patted the girl's head. "We must get out of this sleet, child, or we shall both catch our death." I looked over at the guard who had been left to watch me: "You, sir. What is your name?"

To my astonishment, he bowed. "Gerard, my lady, at your service." After the rough treatment this past week, I had not thought anyone would be polite to me again. Gerard was a short, compact gentleman, of around five and twenty, with a spade-shaped beard and square hands.

"Master Gerard," said I, rising. "If you would be so good as to follow me with the cart, I will show you where to put everything." I turned to Ghislaine. "Do you know how to make a fire?"

"Yes, my lady," she replied curtseying again. "And I can cook and sew."

"That is well enough for now, child. Let us get out of this evil weather."

There was but one room fit for habitation, and that was the solar. It was a large room, big enough for my furniture. But to get to it one was obliged to walk up a rickety staircase open to the elements, then heave open a door that was hanging off its hinges. Somehow, Master Gerard hoisted all of my possessions up those stairs without dropping anything and arranged the furniture at my direction.

I had my bed put against the inner wall and the carved chairs set on each side of the fireplace. I directed Gerard to put the hangings up to ward off the damp chill that pervaded the place.

Clearly, the Serpent hoped I would make a quick end of it here.

I resolved to disappoint her.

I told Ghislaine to make the fire, put the water on to boil, and arrange my down bedspreads, cushions, pillows, and gleaming gold cups while I unpacked my dresses from the coffer.

The door banged to and fro on its weakened hinge, letting in flurries of snow, as well as drafts of cold air.

"Good day to you, madam," said a voice.

I turned. A young woman in a Benedictine habit was curtseying.

"Though it be so dark, you can scarce tell it be day," she remarked. "I am Sister Avisa, of the Benedictine Order of Nuns at the convent of Ashridge, beyond the hamlet of Friesden, not four miles hence. We have come to make you welcome."

She waved in a young man, who bore the royal arms of the leopards of Anjou and the lilies of France.

He knelt and handed up a letter from Edward, which announced the birth of his third daughter. The child was to be named Cecily in my honor.

I looked up to scrutinize the countenance of the messenger before me. But his expression revealed nothing.

I walked to the window to collect my thoughts. It was sleeting hard again, and everything dissolved into grey shadows as afternoon waned into evening. What was the meaning of this? The last time I'd seen Edward was just after I told everyone he was illegitimate. He'd been furious, and when he was furious, he could be terrifying. Since that day, he'd sent no message to me. The only communication had been that arrest warrant.

I read the letter again slowly. In Edward's fine Italic hand, it told me I would be allowed to return to court, provided I made a public apology to the King and the Serpent and retracted my words.

Tears filled my eyes. I brushed them away and turned to Sister Avisa.

"I am greatly fatigued," I told her. "Would you see to it that a suitable gift is sent for the child, and please tell my son I am retiring from the world?"

"Do you wish me to add anything else?"

"Tell him that I am retiring to my new home in the country that he was gracious enough to give me."

Sister Avisa curtseyed silently and left.

I sank into my chair and covered my face with my hands.

I would not know Edward's children well. I saw the two so-called Little Princes in the Tower-Edward of Westminster and his brother, Richard of Shrewsbury, the Duke of York-fewer times than I could count with the fingers of one hand.

A week later, my steward from Fotheringhay, my maid Jenet, and others of my household arrived with more of my things.

"But what will the King say?" I asked, as my people from Fotheringhay bowed and curtseyed before me. "He'll not allow you to stay."

"He'll not cause me to go," declared Jenet. "I was worried sick about you. You know how susceptible you are to the cold, and the weather has been evil. Look at the way you're coughing, even now. 'My place is with my lady,' I said to myself. For no one else can make the cold tinctures that she needs."

"And I am right glad to see you," I replied, kissing her on the cheek. "And all of you are welcome," I added, "if you wish to stay in this grim place."

They a.s.sured me that they wished to stay with such a kind mistress and set about making needful repairs.

Slowly, life returned to normal.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for my nearest kin. Things had curdled to sourness betwixt my son and my nephew. Warwick had given up much of his life, as well as a portion of his considerable fortune, to support the House of York. And what had Edward done for him in return? Promoted the Serpent's family at the expense of everyone else.

Now he made difficulties about the marriage between George and Bella. Edward's opposition did not prevent Warwick from working behind the scenes to obtain a papal dispensation so that the marriage could proceed.

I gazed out at the gloomy skies that seemed to hover over this ruined castle. What would Edward do when George defied him and married Bella?

Chapter 58.