in the Baron’s Hall at Raby, but the white rose symbol featured liberally on the heraldic banners hanging from the rafters, on the badges of many of the guests and in the elaborate embroidery on the new ducal mantle draped on the shoulders of the bridegroom. As I stood before the Duke of York, waiting to confirm my betrothal commitment to him, I wondered if my father had envisaged this white rose challenge to the red rose of Lancaster, to which he had been so faithful. Up to the time of our marriage affinity badges had been small and inconspicuous; noble support for Lancaster had mainly been signified by the wearing of the double S collar and any rivalry between the red rose and the white had been restricted to the jousting lists. There was no reason to suppose that my union with Richard would be anything more than a peaceful one between two dynasties for the purposes of perpetuating their lines and establishing an accord between their families. However, looking back on the day I suppose we might have detected the first signs of discord, stirred by the flamboyance of Richard’s retinue with their conspicuous white rose badges and the sly jokes this inspired among the other attendant peers, not least my own brothers.
At Richard’s invitation, the nuptial mass in the castle chapel was presided over by the elderly bishop of Durham, Thomas Langley, a former Chancellor of England and an eminence grise of the Church. As he blessed our union I found the venerable Bishop’s gnarled hand on my head a reassuring reminder of God’s promise of forgiveness and in return I made a silent vow of marital faithfulness.
The wedding feast lasted well into the night, impressive for its ten ceremonial courses with their seemingly endless procession of dishes that were paraded shoulder-high around the hall before being removed to the carvers and divided into portions; for the ingenious table-fountains which flowed constantly with wine and hippocras and for the army of tumblers, mummers and minstrels that had travelled from far and wide to entertain us in the intervals while one course was cleared to make way for the next. From my seat of honour beside Richard at the high table I watched the guests grow drunker and the dancing become wilder and I laughed and smiled while my stomach churned with anxiety so that I ate little and drank less. I watched my mother nodding and laughing with Bishop Langley while on her other hand my brother Hal barely cracked a smile. Perhaps he was worrying about his absent wife Alice, who might at that moment be birthing their latest child.
I could not begin to imagine how much all this revelry had depleted the Neville coffers but Richard was well pleased by it. ‘I confess I had wanted to hold our wedding at my castle of Fotheringhay,’ he whispered during the feast, ‘but your lady mother wrote that her husband had made a point of leaving special funds for our nuptials, providing they were held at Raby. It was a long way for my vassals to travel but this feast alone has made it worth their while. However, they are just having a feast, whereas I have gained a brilliant and beautiful duchess.’
My new husband raised the jewelled gold bridal cup we shared. On an impulse I leaned in close to hold the lid beneath it as I had used to do for my father and Richard’s eyes lit up in delighted surprise. ‘Thank you, my lady wife; no female has ever done that for me before. While we both live I shall never allow another to do so.’
This was no tipsy wedding promise. I understood his implied declaration of marital loyalty and when he had drunk, I gently took the cup from him and turned it, then pressed my own lips to where the rim was still warm from his and sipped at the rich red wine. Our eyes locked and I knew we had exchanged a solemn vow. ‘I shall hold you to that, my lord,’ I said softly. ‘And while you live I shall never be cup-bearer to another man.’
This exchange and Richard’s obvious sincerity did much to loosen the knot in my belly, as did the subsequent flow of wedding gifts presented to us. First and foremost a gloriously illuminated Book of Hours, ostensibly from King Henry but clearly acquired for him from France by his uncle Duke John of Bedford, judging by the skilful artistry displayed in its pages. My mother’s gift was a set of tapestries from Arras depicting the miracles of Christ, including the wedding at Cana, while from Hal and Alice came a pair of jewelled hanaps, from the Bishop of Durham a portable altar and a beautiful chased silver flagon from Will and Jane Fauconberg.
The loving smile on the cherubic face of Will’s childlike wife moved me deeply, especially when she laid her hands on her own swelling belly and asked in her piping voice, ‘Baby for Cicely soon, too?’ before embracing me enthusiastically. So she does understand what is happening to her, I thought, whatever people may think. I thanked my brother warmly for his gift and wished them both God’s blessing for the impending birth.
In the midst of this a courier arrived, whose appearance stirred a noisy reaction on the floor of the hall. His tunic bore the Neville saltire differenced by a black bull’s head and all present knew this indicated that he came from Brancepeth. He approached the dais and knelt, offering me a sealed letter.
I could feel my face drain of colour as he intoned clearly, ‘I bring greetings to her grace the Duchess of York from Sir John Neville of Brancepeth.’
My hand shook as I broke the seal but I did not unfold the letter. Whatever it contained I did not want to be the one who read it first. Instead I turned and handed it to Richard, sensing that a demonstration of my new subjection to his will would gratify him. ‘Read it, if it please you, my lord,’ I said, my heart in my mouth.
To my relief, after scanning the page Richard smiled broadly. ‘Sir John sends you a wedding gift, my lady. He describes it as “a gentle palfrey which will carry you faithfully into your new life”. What a chivalrous gesture. Where is the palfrey, goodman?’
‘In the stable, your grace.’
I heard my mother ask icily, ‘Is there no present from the earl?’ but there was no response. The courier merely studied the floor and shuffled his feet.
Richard appeared not to notice. ‘We will inspect it tomorrow. Pray convey her grace’s gratitude to Sir John.’
My lips smiled at the retiring courier but my heart and mind were still racing. For several minutes Richard stood and received more gifts and good wishes while I waited for my nerves to steady. Eventually, during the next lull in proceedings I stood up and walked down the table to address my mother.
‘I would ask a wedding boon of you, my lady mother, if you will be generous enough to grant it.’
Alarm rose in her eyes but was quickly stifled. ‘If I can, naturally I will,’ she answered cautiously.
‘Since Sir John Neville has been kind enough to send a wedding gift, I would like to return the compliment. His brother Thomas has recently lost a good marriage because he had no suitable home to offer his bride. I would count it a personal favour if our family was to grant him the manor of Slingsby as a place to establish a future family life.’
It was my mother’s turn to blanch. She glanced furtively at Richard before biting her lip and frowning at me, clearly unable to comprehend my sudden desire to reward the very people who had endangered my own marriage. Yet she could not remonstrate because Richard was unaware of my abduction and she knew it to be imperative that he remain so. It was clear that my mother remained as unwilling as ever to relinquish an acre of the lands her late husband had left her, but it was my belief that the transfer of Slingsby into Thomas’s ownership would ensure the silence of the Brancepeth Nevilles on the subject of her legacy and that of Sir John Neville in particular. My mother cast a beseeching glance at Hal, looking for assistance, but my gamble paid off. He was full of gratitude to me for escaping my captors without him needing to offer the palatial castle and substantial landholding of Sherriff Hutton as a ransom, and perfectly willing to surrender the comparatively unimportant manor of Slingsby at my request. ‘I think that is a splendid notion, Cicely. I will make the necessary arrangements for the title to be transferred to Thomas Neville of Brancepeth. Once he is knighted and the lord of such a prosperous manor, he will have no trouble in attracting a well-endowed
