1460
I remember the tears in the morning, the dread of the veil gently falling to the floor.
Cecily seemed to crumble. She fell to the floor in a haze of silk and silver brocade, her pale butterfly headdress fluttering and falling to the ground, the delicate folds lying almost serenely in the dust amidst their mistresses' guilt. Weak shafts of sunlight streamed through the high windows, a spotlight on the dust gently floating to the floor as the duchess of York remained on her knees.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSHTIphw8Zj
Her eldest son stood before her, road weary and tired, wearing full plate armour that glittered dimly in the early morning light. He had come as fast as his horse could carry him, bringing news that his father and brother were dead. Cecily had lost her second-born son and her husband. She knelt grieving, with Edward's hand on her shoulder to steady her.
She believes in God, but I believe in her.
Richard, a dark-haired and short-legged eight year old boy, watched from the shadows as his mother clutched the crucifix about her neck, pulling on it and tugging. She gripped it so tightly that her knuckles had turned white and he was sure that the edges of the cross must have been cutting into her palm. Her eyes were closed against the soft morning light as it fell on her face; her lips were pressed into a line to stop herself from screaming. Whispered prayers fell from those lips in a murmur almost impossible to hear. Almost. Richard heard how her voice shook, how she pleaded with God and the saints to carry her beloved through the dread of Purgatory, to deliver her son into the arms of the almighty. She prayed for her sons still living, and she prayed for God to watch over the family the Duke of York had left behind.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRQ5W5JW1Hs
And then she noticed her youngest son. She stood shakily, refusing Edward's attempt to lift her. Holding out her arm, she encouraged Richard forward. He ran and his mother caught him, engulfing him in the folds and sleeves of her dress.
"It will be alright, my child." She said, inhaling deeply. Richard looked up at her, seeing her face looking up at the window and the sunlight. She looked determined. When she promised to keep him safe, when she said she would allow no harm to come to himself or his brothers come Hell or high water, he believed her.
14831473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpPO6MSkyeA
When my ship has run its course, she steers me back out to the sea. She won't let me run aground.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlcib4p1QR6
He stepped inside the large reception room in Baynard's Castle. It was his mother's London residence, and at present it was his headquarters. Cecily sat on a large, carved-wood chair, dressed impeccably.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjeuG6iIybU
"What would you have me do?" Richard asked quietly. He knew what the men of his court wanted him to do. He knew what his wife wanted him to do. He knew what Edward - God rest his soul - would want him to do. It bothered him that none of the options they presented to him were the same.
"I would have you keep the honour of the house of York." Cecily said, almost simply. She almost shrugged. She almost turned away from her last living son. Instead she rose and opened her arms to him. He welcomed her embrace like he had when he was eight years old, at heart still a boy seeking his mother's advice.
"It would mean-" Richard began. Cecily tutted.
"It would mean disgracing the memory of Edward. I know that. It would mean betraying your nephews, taking their crown and sitting on the throne yourself. It would mean making yourself king." She said, looking deep into his eyes. Those eyes were identical to those of his father, his namesake. She dimly recalled a similar conversation with her husband, when he counselled her before attempting to take the throne himself. Ah, but that was so long ago now.
"It would mean saving the house of York from disgrace. It would mean saving England from another civil war. It would mean you governing the whole of the realm fairly and justly. It would give you a chance to improve the lawlessness, the corruption. You would make a great king, Richard. Greater than your brother." Cecily whispered. She clutched his hands tightly, and with her slender fingers she stroked the worry lines etched into his features.
"You would be what this country needs."
I've seen the storms she's met, I've seen the tears in secret shed. She sees me as an eagle, though I am just a crow. She sees me as a diamond though I'm just a weathered stone.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGeKJOEXrF3
Richard remembered when she knelt crying over his father. He remembered the nights afterward, when he would hear her cries from her bedchamber, muffled by her pillow as she screamed into it. He remembered her as she hurried himself as his brother George onto a ship and sending them to the Low Countries for safety. He remembered how when the storm had passed and Edward had taken the throne, his mother was treated as a queen.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTUDZSInoYw
"You believe me too great, mother." He said sullenly. Cecily shook her head.
"You are your father's son." She said with conviction. Richard managed a half-smile.
1485
I stole a glimpse of you in pain, I'll take the image to my grave. You look toward the heavens, and I look up to you. I kneel because there are no words, an act will have to do.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPqYfWzHjGd
Richard knelt before his mother, dressed in full battle armour. He was leaving London to meet in battle the man that wanted his crown. She gently touched his shoulder, knighting him with her palm.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNbxBMCJHDJ
Silently he swore to fight for her. There was no-one else to fight for, after all. His brothers were dead. His wife and his son were dead, too. His mother was all he had left. He remembered the day his father died, when she knelt on the floor in her grief. The image had burned itself into his memory, and he had never forgotten it. As he looked up at her on his knees, he saw all the strength she had. He saw the love she bore her son, and he saw in her all he ever needed to win this battle.
She looked toward the skies and sent a prayer for his safety both on the road and in the field of battle. Richard looked up at her, knowing that if God deemed it his time to die, no amount of prayers could change it. He clutched her hand and kissed it.
"I'll return soon." He said simply. Cecily nodded, watching as he mounted his horse and rode to battle.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRNMnZmrQ7e
He glimpsed his enemy on the other side of the battlefield. He charged. Such a reckless act, he knew, had been the downfall of his father.
As his horse was cut down, and a spear pierced his armour, he thought of his mother, and the grief her father had caused her when he had rushed thoughtlessly into battle. Richard was alike his father in so many ways - height, stature, colouring - but he had never thought to cause his mother grief in the same way.
She believes in God but I believe in no divinity, so inadequately I write in meter in verse. She believes in God, but I believe in her.1473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuo1avpglqT
As his vision faded and he became vaguely aware of a pain and a dull throbbing in the back of his skull, he prayed. He didn't pray for his own soul, or for his deliverance. He prayed for his mother, the woman who had ensured his survival as a child and had stood by him as king. He was proud, more than anything, that he had been able to call Cecily, Duchess of York and the Rose of Raby, his mother.
Song is Meter & Verse by Young Guns and is inspired by Cecily Neville and her son Richard, duke of Gloucester, later king Richard III. He was killed during the battle of Bosworth on the 22nd August 1485 against Henry Tudor, after taking the throne from his nephews after they were judged illegitimate and unsuitable to claim the crown. Cecily lived another ten years, saw her granddaughter Elizabeth of York marry Henry Tudor and saw the birth of her great-grandchildren, most notably Henry, Duke of York who would eventually become Henry VIII. In her later years she was known for her piety and when she died she was buried with her husband and her son Edmund, both of whom died at the battle of Wakefield in 1460. Cecily was certainly a strong woman, enduring the deaths of her husband, her children, the frequent regime changes and the bloody times of the Wars of the Roses. The song was written by the singer Gustav Wood about his own mother, and so it's fitting that a song about one strong mother can be applied to another.
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