Hatfield House, England, 1668
“You may not wed your whore!” William Cecil, Second Earl of Salisbury, was in great pain this day and not in a mood to listen to his youngest son’s entreaties. He sat in a thronelike chair, huddled in his velvet and brocade robes, staring into the fire. The bedchamber was chill despite the blaze, and his joints ached fiercely.
“She has borne me two boys now, and I care for her, sir,” replied Henry Cecil, standing awkwardly before his father. “Besides, Father—who else will wed such a cripple as I am?”
The Old Earl turned slowly and gazed at Henry through dim eyes. This son had always been burdened with a crooked spine, an affliction inherited from his grandfather, Robert, and aggravated by a series of paralyzing fevers when still in his teens. As such, he had been of no use to the family as a soldier, courtier, or clergyman. Henry had lived on a small allowance from the family, and could hope for no inheritance. The woman, Matilde Cobham, was a sturdy, redheaded commoner who had lived with Henry for many years now, caring for their small cottage and bearing him sons, Joshua and William.
“Ye’ll have to care for your bastards, my son. My time is short, and soon your nephew, James, will be earl in my place. I do not know if he will continue your allowance, finances being so unsettled as they are. If you wed Lady Celia—”
“Hang Lady Celia! She’s old and fat and sneers at me! She wishes to buy herself a name!” cried the young man, now desperate. “Matilde and my sons deserve that name.”
“Not while I live! Marry her and ye’ll get no more support!” roared the Old Earl wheezing heavily. “Then all of ye may starve!”
“My children shall show nothing but contempt for the Cecil name! And I shall never darken the halls of this house again!” cried Henry as he turned and hobbled from his father’s presence.
He paused along an outer corridor, shaking with fury and impotent anger. He would never wed as his father commanded, and Matilde Cobham’s family would see that the boys did not starve. As for the name—
Henry grimaced as he viewed the frosted lawns and shriveled trees of this familiar landscape. Once he played with his brothers in the long summer days, secure in his name and station. But that had vanished with the crippling fevers and shifts in the family’s fortunes. All of the good was gone for him and his helpless children.
So be it. His sons would have as much right to the exalted name of the great Cecils as did his useless nephews. But they would get no profit from it, only the stigma of bastardy. “So my sons will never bear my name. But they shall know of my family’s arrogance, and not suffer for it. They will have to fight for themselves, but they shall not give up!”
Henry’s sons went to a new world with a new name, and their descendants did not give up. . ..
Written by Katherine Cobham, descendant of Henry and Matilde Cobham, 1996