The Wars of the Roses

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Suffolk is disgraced, and the Queen is cheating on the King.

Margaret's days are clearly numbered...

You might think so, but she is very resilient.

Ok, best case scenario fantasizing here: Margaret and Somerset get caught in flagrante and get theirs, and this whole mess somehow doesn’t cause King Henry to have a psychotic break and start running through the palace naked or insisting that he is made of glass like his grandfather used to do, and it somehow doesn’t cause Richard to try and put the king out to pasture in a monastery or otherwise conspire that no child of Henry’s gets between him and the throne, and it instead causes him to feel sorry for his cousin and finally do right by him by finding him a bride that would make him happy… who would be the candidates?

I’m honestly liking the thought of a Portuguese match - right now King Duarte o Philosophe (King Edward the Philosopher) has two unmarried daughters, Catherine and Joan, and so few eligible marriage alliances for them that he wound up sending Catherine to a convent (Joan would marry Henry IV of Castile in 1455). Both girls are reported to be quite intelligent and Catherine was exceptionally pious and chaste (her sister… not so much), and not only do they and their father have a vested interest in a strong and stable England, but they likely are already fluent English speakers thanks to their grandmother Phillipa of Lancaster (Henry IV’s sister, Henry VI’s great-aunt).

If we could move Margaret out of the way, the Portuguese angle might be a good one, but she is hard to get out of the way. Now maybe York should look at that for his son Edward.

What you mean?

This is exactly what is going to happen, considering she's already been caught doing far less. She's an idiot, and the Duke is honourable. One of them is going to let something slip.

Especially if she gets preggers. No one is going to believe Henry touched her for that long.

Well, you and I know about her infidelity but we're really the only ones. Others suspect but have no proof. Now, if she gets preggers...just wait.


To all - Continued thanks for you following, reading and giving comment. It helps propel me forward. The next scene arrives in a moment...

 

[coz1]

Sheriff Hutton, March 1453​

Sir Fulk straightened the runner to the table in his Lord’s solar as he waited. He was nothing if not a perfectionist. Though marshal to the Earl of Warwick he could not stand a thing out of place. He smiled in satisfaction when he checked to see if the wine was full and then turned with alacrity when the Earl finally entered with his brothers. With a bow Fulk greeted them, “My Lord, the north welcomes you once more.”

“Ah..good Fulk!” Warwick was quick to grin and moved to him immediately, “We have been missing of you.”

Fulk bowed again, “Many travels, my Lord. Your interests are sound.”

“What have you made the man do this time, brother?” Thomas Neville asked with some laughter.

The third brother John Neville jested, “Some thing chaste and pure, I am certain.”

“Please, sirs..” Richard pointed to the wine for them to partake as he looked back to Fulk, “...and you, sir. How goes it with our endeavors to the south?”

“Bought and paid for as promised, my Lord,” Fulk replied as he held out a hand, “Though more payment is due at the now.”

Warwick fished in his coat and found a pouch of coin, “It is an investment, my good man. One may never know when it shall be useful.”

“What are you up to now, Dickon?” John asked as he sipped at his wine.

Richard flashed a grin, “Never you worry, brother. I merely make it a habit to have no unknown unknowns.”

“Father always says that you are the smart one,” Thomas followed as he sat near the hearth, “Though you nearly got harmed in this latest piece.”

Warwick turned back to Fulk, “Take the coin, sir. See that it remains so. We shall be in contact for I should like to meet this...person when the time is right.”

As Fulk gave bow and left, Richard Neville moved to pour his own wine, “I do not mind saying that it was a near run thing, lads. Our uncle of York can be like a dog to a bone. Difficult to get it away once he’s sunk in the teeth.”

Thomas gave nod, “Yet father was good to his word. Made the peace, did he not?”

“It is a tenuous peace, I believe,” John suggested.

“Yet peace nonetheless,” Richard shifted to sit next to them by the fire, “And I think we the better for it.”

Thomas leaned forward, “We shall see. Your man is not wrong...it has been some time since you have been to the north. The Percy clan remains to aggravate and as it is learned that Somerset will face little in punishment, your own issues remain as well.”

“Indeed brother...” John followed, “...you remain without some after the poor judgment on the Beauchamp inheritance and while you still do very well, I am not sure that your questioned actions during this time will assist you when it comes up again.”

“Worry not, lads,” Richard smiled to them, “Father now sits to Council. That is what we have wished for some time. We know that our uncle of York also desires it, but he is...mayhap too rash in his actions.”

John raised his cup, “He is a proud man.”

“With reason to be so,” Thomas agreed.

Richard stood to warm his backside by the fire, “He may have his pride. His wealth as well. And we shall support him as we may. Yet never forget...we work to our benefit. No other.”

“Well...from one York to another...our Lord of Percy is doing his best to make inroads around Yorkshire,” John suggested, “He and his clan think we to poach his clients when in truth that is what he is doing. Notably his son.”

“Poynings or Egremont?” Richard questioned.

Thomas laughed, “I thought you to dislike unknowns, brother.”

“As I do not, that is why I ask,” Richard pursed his lips, “The old man can be dealt with, though father likes him not, but the sons are another matter. And I am told that Egremont especially holds a hot head.”

“That he does,” Thomas answered with seriousness, “And I am told that he is fuming mad about my upcoming nuptials.”

Warwick raised his cup, “Ah yes...the Lady Maud Stanhope. Quite a prize, brother.”

“He has been raised quickly, Dickon...do you not think?” John suggested with humor.

“Indeed,” Richard responded with a wink, “I’ve not yet chance to even ask about your ceremony to London with the King’s brothers. How was that?”

Thomas sat back, “As you might expect. Father was very proud. I too to be knighted. And the Tudor fellows appear nice enough. I think them to have some mettle in them. Surely more than the King even if you have said that he has changed.”

“I was sad to miss it,” Richard shifted to sit once more with curiosity, “Yet what was the King’s mood? And what of the Queen?”

“She was not even there,” Thomas answered, “Passing strange, I thought. Yet the King? He was...there and then not, it seemed. Proud for his brothers, I suppose...but also...distant. Hard to explain.”

John leaned in, “He surely has much on his mind at the now.”

“Yes...” Richard gave nod, “...that may be it. And yet you, Thomas...as I say...a fine match!”

Thomas smiled, “I cannot say that I had much to do with it. You may blame our mother Lady Alice. Lord Cromwell respects her well and as Maud is heir to his estates, she fought with the fierceness that she is known for. I am unsure if it be Beauchamp wealth, but it is more than some thing.”

“And a widower, brother,” John jested with him, “Forget that not. She likely knows her way around the maypole.”

Thomas winked to them both, “I am not sad to say that I know that already, sirs.”

“Careful, Tom,” Richard grinned, “It is a delicate thing. The match comes with it riches so it should never, under any circumstances, come also with question.”

“Well...” Thomas continued, “...as I say...the Percy clan does question. They are greatly disappointed that the manors of Wressle and Burwell might pass to me when Lord Cromwell finally meets his maker. They doubtless hoped to reclaim them at some time and already resent our power here to the north.”

John followed, “Unlike the Duke of York and the crown who are absent landlords at best in these parts, we have done our part to remain a force. As you see, we look after your holdings. And brother George is working at his practice in Durham. Much like we all, he holds his ambition. No less than the archbishopric of York, he says. And he is well on his way. He is consecrated as priest and continues that climb up the ladder.”

“If Kempe can be Archbishop of Canterbury, then anything is possible,” Richard made jest.

“That much is true,” Thomas did not join in the humor, “Yet with the recent happenings to the south, much of what we see to here is as if another world. There is war that remains to France and the border with the Scots is still porous in many ways. By virtue of title, Henry Percy holds his sway as Earl of Northumberland. And while he may be reasonable, his sons are not.”

Warwick drained his cup and then stood again to the fire, “It is all about York. One or the other, yes? I work hard as I know that we sit upon a tinderbox.”

“We know that you do, brother,” John suggested, “But these lands can be lawless as you well know. Especially if the crown is considering elsewhere.”

“The crown has their myriad of troubles,” Richard mused as he looked to the flames, “York...France...his wife and their lack of issue. Somerset and his ilk as well. All for naught because a King must lead.”

Thomas questioned, “I had thought that the King did lead, brother.”

“He held his moment,” Richard turned to them both, “And showed a strength. Yet neither Somerset nor our uncle was truly punished. That is a leniency and no matter how many words spoken towards the great book will change that. It is a weakness. And one that will continue to grow. You both know my mind on this. Father is kind and we love him for such. Yet kindness may only go so far. Force, sirs...that is the true power.”

John answered him, “We would not be weak. Not to here.”

“Good,” Warwick replied as he held up his cup, “For I hold notion that the north will play a very important role in the times to come. Be it Percy, crown or our uncle...it is we...the Nevilles...that will see it play out in our favor. Never forget that.”

 

[El Pip]

Others have commented on Margaret, after the Scottish incident I am neither surprised nor disappointed. It could be a great turning point, yet I fear coz will drag out the misery and once again have the harlot and the disloyal Somerset somehow survive and remain influential. A shame.

And so to the North, a scene which reminds me of Warwick's greatest attribute; he knows how to play the game and no other bugger in this tale does. The King is confused and unworldly, the Queen just doesn't understand the country and refuses to learn, York is far too proud, rash and impatient, Buckingham is too nice and loyal, and Someset is an idiot. Warwick pretty much has to do well out of this, because of the low calibre of those he is competing against. That said we see the Percy clan continue to lurk just off stage, still in the North and far from the story but inching closer. I suppose they too knew the game, even if they did tend to have appalling battlefield luck and kept on dying. If they could but stay alive they might do better.

 

[coz1]

Others have commented on Margaret, after the Scottish incident I am neither surprised nor disappointed. It could be a great turning point, yet I fear coz will drag out the misery and once again have the harlot and the disloyal Somerset somehow survive and remain influential. A shame.

And I fear that you know me too well.

And so to the North, a scene which reminds me of Warwick's greatest attribute; he knows how to play the game and no other bugger in this tale does. The King is confused and unworldly, the Queen just doesn't understand the country and refuses to learn, York is far too proud, rash and impatient, Buckingham is too nice and loyal, and Someset is an idiot. Warwick pretty much has to do well out of this, because of the low calibre of those he is competing against. That said we see the Percy clan continue to lurk just off stage, still in the North and far from the story but inching closer. I suppose they too knew the game, even if they did tend to have appalling battlefield luck and kept on dying. If they could but stay alive they might do better.

It has been fun to slowly build Warwick into the character most familiar to people in OTL. I think all of what you suggest above is true but there is that one aspect of his character that was mentioned in the scene and we should not forget it ...his quest for power. One might say that each of these figures hold that same desire in their fashion, but few of them are as eagle-eyed focused as Warwick when it comes to achieving it. It may not seem so yet, but we will get there.

As to the Percy clan, I admit it has been enjoyable learning more about them. In most of my research on the period, they were my least known as I went into this. That is being rectified as we speak.


To all - Thanks again to all reading and giving comment on the work. Expect the next scene tomorrow. On a writing and planning standpoint, I have finished plotting out chapter 7 and have written about half of it. I hope that you will continue to enjoy the tale as much as I am enjoying writing it. Lot's of fun coming up.

Also of note, it is a very good day today for AARland. Just head over to the general discussion area to see.

Finally, for those that celebrate - a very Happy Easter to you all. He is Risen!

 

[coz1]

Greenwich, March 1453​

Lady Eleanor Beauchamp was in a fine mood. With her husband restored to his preeminent position at court, their lives had seemed to return to normal. She was uncertain for twice now the Lord of Somerset had found arrest but both times he had come away mostly unscathed. It had taken some time to restore their possessions after the failed plot against him of 1450 and then this most recent trouble of the previous year that had cost them in coin to the church. Yet the recent Parliament had been kind in awarding additional income and more, Edmund had been charged by them to raise a goodly force of archers at the expense of the shires and boroughs for six months time.

He was clearly trusted by both King and his peers and the only worry now was the close kinship suddenly seen by King Henry to his natural Tudor brothers. She would make a point of speaking on this to the Queen as she attended upon her as one of her ladies in waiting. Another thing returned to her, thanks be to God. As she approached the Queen’s ornate chambers, she spied the handsome chevalier servant Pierre de Brézé standing guard near to her chamber door.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” she allowed a slight dip of her head as she passed and he did not stop her as she entered the Queen’s rooms. She found Margaret with her face to her chamber pot.

“My Lady Queen?!” she exclaimed in distress, “Are you unwell?”

Margaret slowly stood still in her nightgown and drew a hand across her mouth to wipe away the sick, “I...a poor meal, I am sure. I did sleep well, but woke up most disturbed this morning.”

“Then I shall fetch you a soothing tonic, my Lady,” Eleanor was quick to the door and hollered out for it to be brought forthwith. She turned back to find Margaret slowly sit to her bed, “Is that all? Only a little sickness?”

“Yes...yes...” Margaret steadied herself as she felt another wave coming but calmed herself, “...I am certain. Just...a poor bit of chicken.”

Eleanor moved to the water bowl and wrung out a cloth to wipe at the Queen’s mouth and brow, “That is too poor, dear Lady, when you have finally returned to your most favored place. Here...let us fix you up.”

The Queen held up a halfhearted hand to stop her before dropping it and allowing the mothering, “It appears that I shall be reduced in all ways, Lady Eleanor.”

“Oh my sweet girl,” the Lady smiled and brushed at Margaret’s hair with her hand, “You have seen so much so soon. I am sure that you will be quite right after a calming bath.”

Margaret felt a tear to her eye, “Mayhap I am simply heart sick over my mother.”

“That could very well be it, my Queen,” Eleanor replied with sureness, “It is a terrible thing to lose one’s mother and the poor Lady was ill for so long. I am told that it was painful for her and so too it must be for yourself. Your mind and heart are troubled and so...so too would be your belly.”

“Well...” Margaret looked to her with some confusion, “...it is not just this morning.”

Eleanor skewed a brow, “Begging your pardon, Lady? You say that you have felt unwell already?”

“In truth...some few days actually,” Margaret looked to her with a worry.

“Really?” Lady Beauchamp replied as she began to understand, “It may then not be so poor as that.”

Margaret remained confused, “It is quite every morning for the past week.”

“It is rather indelicate, my Queen...yet might I ask when you last found your moon blood?” Eleanor questioned.

“I am unsure,” Margaret questioned herself, “Not in the last fortnight...nor for another prior. I don’t know why I cannot recall...mayhap to here when Henry and I held the Christmas court?”

Eleanor allowed a smile to cross her face, “Oh dear. Sweet girl...my Lady Queen...I believe that you are now with child.”

“Truly?” Margaret remained with worry.

“My dear Lady...trust me,” Eleanor kept her smile and brushed again to her hair, “I have had my share of children and the signs are clearly there.”

The Queen held to her belly and remained confused, “Yet...I have been in such a state before. It did not feel this way.”

“A sad time that was, my Queen,” her Lady replied as she held to her hand, “Yet that child is now with God and had yet to fully form. This one, I think, is ready for you and you for he.”

“Can it be?” Margaret was truly in shock.

Eleanor smiled again, “Blessed be God! Of course it can! Through all of your travails and hardships, the Almighty Lord has given you this issue that you and the King have so long desired and prayed for. It is a glory and a gift!”

“Yet I...” Margaret thought to herself, “...I have not...”

“Oh be still, my Lady Queen,” Eleanor lifted to wring out the cloth and returned to wipe at Margaret’s slender neck, “You will be made well by this and so will the King. He will be so pleased. You must write to him at once.”

Margaret was still deep in thought but answered, “Yes...yes. He must know.”

“Should you wish to make progress back to Westminster?” Lady Eleanor looked to her wardrobe only recently unpacked.

“No...” Margaret turned to her quickly, “...I believe not. I...may not be ready for travel at this moment.”

Eleanor smiled again, “It is not far, my Lady. Just a short ride up river. And the King would surely wish this news the moment it is known.”

“His chamberlain,” the Queen stood slowly and moved herself to the water bowl, “He is well known to me. Send for him. I shall give him words to convey to Henry. You are correct...he will be...pleased.”

“You would not wish to impart this news yourself?” Lady Eleanor questioned with her own confusion.

Margaret turned sharply, “My Lady! I say send for Tunstall! Shall I be more clear?”

“Of course, my Queen,” Eleanor showed a brief bow, “I shall do so with all haste.”

As the Lady left the chamber, Margaret splashed some water to her face. She looked out the window at the grounds of her beloved palace and sighed. How could it be? It was not possible. She and Henry had still not forgiven one another and there had been no bed peace since they had returned. She knew it. And Henry would as well. There had only been the one...and his wife had just left her room.

“Monsieur!!” she called out.

Pierre de Brézé was quick to enter, “Madame?”

“You will call for Somerset...discreetly!” she said without turning, “The Lord must be alone and it must be in the quiet. No one else must know.”

He bowed, “As you wish, ma Reine.”

As he left the chamber, Margaret gave nod of her head as she continued to look to the grounds below and said softly but strongly to herself, “No one else must know!”

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

She found Margaret with her face to her chamber pot.

Hehehehehehehehehe.

so will the King. He will be so pleased.

Well, actually, quite a few people will be rather pleased, at least privately. They can finally get rid of that turbulent b...ride.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Hehehehehehehehehe.

Well, actually, quite a few people will be rather pleased, at least privately. They can finally get rid of that turbulent b...ride.

Your thoughts on the Queen are quite subtle, sir. Tell us how you really feel?


The next scene arrives in moments...

 

[coz1]

Greenwich, April 1453​

Henry was reticent to enter but felt his hand move to the already open door. He softly took a step and found his wife to a settle by the window of her solar. Margaret remained beautiful and as she had not yet heard him enter, she still remained serene. A thing he had not witnessed in some time. He was unsure but cleared his throat and Margaret turned immediately.

“My Lord King,” she responded as she slowly lifted from her seat and moved to him, “You honor me.”

“How could I not?” he replied as he stood tall with no smile, “Not with such news...that my chamberlain brings to me.”

Margaret stepped close to him and offered a gentle kiss to his cheek, “It has been more than a week. I would have expected you sooner.”

“Would you now?” he questioned without a kiss in reply.

“I...did not feel well,” she suggested, “Was with undue stress and worry. After our last time...my thoughts have been...to that and no thing more.”

Henry stepped around her and slowly walked to the large solar window, “How long did you know before you wrote to me?”

“Immediately, sir,” she turned and softly answered to his back.

“So I have then been remiss,” he replied as he looked out to the gardens, “Though you did receive my parcel?”

Margaret stood where she was with some sadness, “A most beautiful jewel, husband. Word from you when I did not receive your face.”

“You would know that it cost over two hundred pounds,” he stated as he kept his back to her, “A not inconsiderable sum.”

She gave nod, “I would expect no less by your generosity. I am also told that Chamberlain Tunstall has gained an annuity for his fine words to you.”

“One should be rewarded for their honorable work and delightful news.”

“Henry...” she stepped closer with trepidation, “...I find that you say delightful and yet you do not show it yourself.”

He finally turned to her with a pained face, “How could I? To all and many, I have been forced to show all the world how grand and wonderful this moment is. To express notice that our most dearly beloved wife the Queen is now enceinte and to our most singular consolation and joy. For us and to all true liege people and their comfort. I must do no thing else...even if it is a lie.”

“It is NOT a lie!” Margaret rushed to him and held him closely, “Do you not recall the Christmas court? You were to your cups...but there was a moment. One of few, I admit...but we did join for but a chance. That be all it takes.”

Henry remained motionless and cold, “Your words drip honey...but you have been no thing but cold to me for the longest time.”

“And you have not?” she backed away with affront, “You have practically exiled me to here and away from court!”

He allowed a slight laugh, “I think that to be your desire...my Lady.”

“It was never my desire,” she offered plea, “Yet you have been so cruel of late.”

“Cruel?” Henry questioned as he turned away from her again to look out the window, “From my learning the Hebrew might call it Qashah. It may mean any number of things as I understand but among them...hard...severe...fierce...difficult...stubborn. That I have been no thing but loving to you since the day that you arrived to these shores...and more, allowed you any and all that you have ever desired...pray tell how I may have been one of these things?”

Margaret was intelligent but she was not as learned as her husband, “I am but a woman, Lord. I am not given such training. Should you wish to pickle nits, you would be at an advantage.”

“I rather think...” Henry turned back to her with a narrowed brow, “...that these words do apply to you. In all things that I do attempt, you stand athwart. You hold your own mind and have been less than quiet in your sharing.”

“I had thought that you enjoyed that,” she suggested strongly.

Henry slowly shook his head, “I...have...not.”

“What then would you have me say?!” she questioned with incredulity.

He pointed to her with an angered face, “You would say to me why there is some thing to your belly that is not mine!”

“But it is yours, Henry!” Margaret strained to convince him as she moved to hold him once more, “There can be no other! It is and always has been you. Do not believe the lies! You do not remember because your mind has so much else to consider! Always!”

He gently pushed her away with a hurt and questioning face, “Do you think me a fool?!”

“I know that I have called you foolish...and I am sorry,” she pleaded, “Yet I only said so because it was not to your worth...not for yourself...these things that you were doing. I only care for you, Henry! Only you!”

“You use many words,” he replied, “And none answer the question.”

Margaret stepped away from him with her own anger, “And you have pressed and pushed and done all manner of things to silence me! To treat me with such foulness! Did you not know that my mother passed to God? I did not receive word then! As I say...you have banished me and so what am I to do?!”

“At the first...” Henry looked to her with resignation, “...I would have you answer.”

“I have answered already!” she shouted, “How many times must I tell you that you are to be a father?! That you shall have a son and heir?!”

Henry shouted back in extreme anger, “And I shall be the world’s greatest cuckold for I know that such is not possible!! If a stick has stirred your honey pot, it has not been mine and no matter how many precious words you attempt to offer to me, I shall not believe it!!”

“My Lord...Henry...you are unwell,” she stated pretending to care for him, “You loose your senses. It has been thus for some time...”

“I have a bloody Kingdom to rule!” he cut her off, “A war with France! This foolish and near deadly rivalry between York and Somerset...on which, you have clearly taken a side! I must fight them and you! And now this?!”

Margaret moved back to him and tried to hold his face, “Shh. You are overwhelmed, sir.”

He threw her arms down and retreated behind the settle. He did not know what to say and turned back and forth looking to her and then not. Finally he sat opposing her and placed his head in his hands speaking softly, “I have brought this on myself. I have not prayed enough and God does punish me.”

“Husband...” Margaret slowly moved to him and placed a reticent hand to his back, “...you may pray too often.”

Henry flinched at her touch, “There can be no such thing.”

“Then you have prayed enough,” she stated softly, “God has provided for you that which you have longed for. As have I. It is sure to be a son. The Almighty would not punish you twice. Not with your great piety. You must trust in that. And you must believe me.”

“How can I?” he asked as much to himself as he did to her and felt a tear run down his face.

Margaret leaned down and hugged at his neck, “It is at your highest moment, husband, when the devil would come to call on you and spill evil words into your mind.”

“I have been...” Henry stated with a forlorn tone, “...King of this realm and more for thirty and one years. And this is my lowest moment.”

“Then you must remember,” she followed as she gently kissed to his head, “The birth of an heir will solve so many things. The rivalry will be null. The kingdom will be rejoicing. And we? We shall find our closeness again. This thing that we share.”

Henry turned and looked to her with deep sad eyes, “Yet we do not share it.”

“You must trust me, my love...” Margaret answered him, “...we do.”

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

Henry was reticent to enter

Mmm. Part of the problem.

He finally turned to her with a pained face, “How could I? To all and many, I have been forced to show all the world how grand and wonderful this moment is. To express notice that our most dearly beloved wife the Queen is now enceinte and to our most singular consolation and joy. For us and to all true liege people and their comfort. I must do no thing else...even if it is a lie.”

“It is NOT a lie!” Margaret rushed to him and held him closely, “Do you not recall the Christmas court? You were to your cups...but there was a moment. One of few, I admit...but we did join for but a chance. That be all it takes.”

Oh it is a lie, and there is no way the yorkists are going to believe it (they'd have to have Henry swear upon an alter that it was true, and he will never go that far).

She might be fortunate enough to keep it hidden until Henry gets sick (indeed, she might try and poison him) but I can't see it happening.

Henry has finally and certainly seen the true face of his wife. Really hope it means he turns to someone, anyone else, other than doubling down on protecting her indiscretions.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Mmm. Part of the problem.

Oh it is a lie, and there is no way the yorkists are going to believe it (they'd have to have Henry swear upon an alter that it was true, and he will never go that far).

She might be fortunate enough to keep it hidden until Henry gets sick (indeed, she might try and poison him) but I can't see it happening.

Henry has finally and certainly seen the true face of his wife. Really hope it means he turns to someone, anyone else, other than doubling down on protecting her indiscretions.

You know it's a lie and the Yorkists will surely believe it is a lie, but Margaret has thus far been very good at getting away with it. Now Henry believes it a lie but how far will he go?

 

[coz1]

Westminster, July 1453​

The now Archbishop Kempe stormed down the hallways of the palace with his hands full of documents and in ill temper. He reached the Council chamber and threw open the door expecting to find the King. When he did not, he spied both Salisbury and Buckingham and slammed his papers to the table, “Where is His Grace? I was called for a meeting and he is not here?!”

Baron Thomas Clifford stood with some anger of his own, “Does your parish to Canterbury keep you too long away from your duties as Lord Chancellor, sir?”

“Or mayhap too much rich food to taste for His Eminence,” Henry Holland, the young Duke of Exeter suggested with a laugh.

“Sirs...please,” Buckingham looked to them all, “His Grace will be along in due time. He has been ill at ease of late and for good reason.”

Salisbury spoke out as he looked to Clifford, “I should say so. What do your cousins do, sir?!”

Kempe tried to calm himself and held up his hands, “We shall get to it, my Lords. It is a grave matter and requires attention from the King.”

“As are many things,” Buckingham followed as he moved to sit, “Yet we must be patient. Both between ourselves and with His Grace. His mind is on all manner of things, most especially the birth of an heir. Let us remember that.”

“Lords...” his voice sounded weak as King Henry slowly entered the Council chamber and moved to sit without looking to any of them, “...say your words.”

Archbishop Kempe turned to him with a worry, “Your Grace...are you unwell?”

“I am fine,” Henry looked to him and then back to the table before him, “Speak now.”

Lord Clifford stood, “Your Grace...you will hear slander here this day and I shall not have it. My wife’s brother has done no thing wrong even if some here would try and tell you such!”

The King looked to him with confusion, “Your who?”

“He speaks of Percy, sire...the Lord of Northumberland, Your Grace,” Buckingham answered.

Salisbury was quick to follow, “Indeed, Your Grace...the man’s sons have attacked mine own!”

“Attack?” the King questioned as he looked around the table.

“Your Grace...” Kempe sat as he produced a paper, “...a contretemps to the north. Here is my report such that I have it.”

The Earl pressed to the table, “You need not read the words! The Lord Egremont forcefully stopped my son Thomas on his way back from his wedding to Tattershall! It is a wonder than none were slaughtered, Your Grace!”

“That is a lie, sir!” Clifford answered, “He merely meant to congratulate...”

“With armed men?!” Salisbury questioned with incredulity.

Henry held up his hands to stop them, “Allow me a moment...please.”

“Your Grace, I am loathe to disturb, but I cannot stay quiet when these men...this tribe of Percies and theirs...” Salisbury pointed to Clifford, “...may run lawless throughout the north! This is no less than an act of hostility against mine...and yours!”

Exeter dismissed it, “Egremont holds a temper. You said so yourself, my Lord...there was no bloodshed.”

“Though it is troubling,” Buckingham directed his point back to the King.

“I don’t...we do not...” Henry looked to Kempe with confusion.

The Archbishop sighed as he attempted to explain as he pointed to his paper, “As stated here from my knowledge, Your Grace...the young man Neville was on his way returning from his nuptials at Tattershall Castle...the home of Lord Cromwell. The lady Maud is his heir and now wife to young Neville...our Lord of Salisbury’s son.”

“A fine boy,” Henry suggested as he looked to the Earl.

Salisbury calmed himself, “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. Yet he was not greeted but rather was ambushed.”

“Please!” Kempe held up an exasperated hand and looked back to the King, “It is now known that a goodly force of retainers of both Lord Egremont and his younger brother Sir Richard Percy with them in attendance stopped the young Sir Thomas and his own younger brother John with their party. The lady Maud was quite out of her senses after for it was...inhospitable and untoward. It was in or about Herewith in Yorkshire, sire. Some days ago.”

“No one bloody died!” Exeter spoke out again, “A lot of puffery and chest beating but no thing else.”

Salisbury looked to the Duke with affront, “My sons should not feel safe in their own kingdom, sir?!”

“I was not aware that the north was a kingdom unto itself, my Lord,” Clifford leaned forward, “Yet you Nevilles treat it as such!”

“It was at one point...” Henry trailed off.

Neither Clifford or Salisbury were pleased and as usual, Buckingham tried to play peace maker, “It is an unfortunate event, Your Grace. With so many other worries, it is found that these powerful families of the realm do play...perhaps rudely.”

“My Lord of Buckingham!” Salisbury pressed with anger, “My son was merely returning with his bride! What cause has Percy and his to waylay them in such fashion?!”

The Duke of Exeter was nonplussed, “You speak of worries, sirs...what then might be said about our goings on in France? This other is but a minor squabble when the Lord Talbot remains in Bordeaux without reinforcement or funds to press our charge. The kingdom of Charles so called seventh is on its knees! Should we not rather speak on that?”

“My Lords...” Archbishop Kempe tried to corral them all, “...let us speak on one item at a time. His Grace would appreciate it, I am certain.”

“Yes...” King Henry finally looked to them all, “...yes I would. We would. It is...an abomination what is heard here. Lord Clifford...I...we would have you speak to your cousins. This is most rude. And Lord Salisbury...we are sorry for your heart ache. I do now recall your son...Thomas...he was just knighted, was he not?”

Kempe gave nod, “He was, Your Grace.”

“And was most honored,” Salisbury followed but pressed, “Yet, sire...Your Grace...this type of lawlessness must not be allowed. Only your word would stop it.”

Clifford was not yet done, “His word, my Lord? How about your own? Or that of your benefactor of York that stays without motion now to Ludlow in the marches? He owns lands to that place? Why be he so absent?”

“Because he sulks,” Exeter suggested.

The King stood with some frustration to his Council, “Our cousin does not sulk! He does not brood! He cares for our lands in all ways and every day!”

“Your Grace...” Exeter begged pardon, “...may we stop playing at fabrication at the now? The Duke of York is a man of exceeding temperament. I should know. He is my father in law. And my young wife has received more than one terse letter from her Lady mother. He is absent from the north for he wishes to be so. It is to his betterment to stir up trouble. This exact type, sire.”

“It is not a matter of the Duke of York, Your Grace!” Salisbury followed with strength, “He is but one of many land owners to the north. He could no more press these Percies than mine own. It is a matter for the crown!”

Exeter gave bow with his head, “Personal worth is all and yet I maintain...the war to France, Your Grace. It is of the most importance.”

“I would agree,” Buckingham suggested, “We have seen every opportunity and yet no more follows. Talbot is stuck to Bordeaux after his victories and still...that kingdom does not fall.”

Archbishop Kempe was certain, “It is the Burgundians...Duke Philip. He and they control the peace at the now.”

“And why is that?” the King questioned.

“They hold much to the north, Your Grace,” Buckingham answered, “And this Mantua...they hold much else. There is little we may do...but we should be to the peace proceedings, do you not think?”

Exeter spoke out again, “We should sack Paris!”

The King put his thumbs to his temple and closed his eyes. He rubbed them around before placing his hands to the table, “There is much to do, my Lords. Much prayer required. I...we find need to contemplate.”

“I think not prayer, Your Grace, but judgment,” Lord Clifford suggested.

“I...will...” Henry stood from the table and moved to the window of the chamber first before turning towards the door.

Buckingham stood as they all did and replied, “His Grace has much to his mind. Above all...the heir, my Lords. That must be most pressing.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Archbishop Kempe allowed the King a slight bow of the head.

Henry stopped at the door and looked to them all, “There is much...items...wishes that I hold. We must think...pray...consider...”

“Yet Your Grace...this action to the north?!” Salisbury pressed again.

Clifford followed, “Much ado about nothing but pride, Your Grace!”

“And France, sire! Why will not Burgundy make the peace?” Exeter questioned, “I should be happy to be envoy.”

Kempe allowed another worry, “Plus York, Your Grace...he is still chirping even if he does not go north or to here.”

“I cannot!!!” Henry shouted as he held his hands to a prayerful position close to his mouth and closed his eyes tightly, “I...cannot!”

“Your Grace?” they all asked to a man.

King Henry opened his eyes but said not a word. He looked to them each and then left the Council chamber wishing for some type of solace. It was not to be found here. Only to chapel. And to his mind perhaps not there either.

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

Mmm. This is going to end well.

 

[Historywhiz]

Iron rods in the king’s clothes soon enough. The realm is in anarchy, and the counselors too stupid to realize that if they even just handle one issue at a time, they might stabilize things and not drive the king to madness. But no, poor Henry is perhaps the only man of uncommon blood in the kingdom who thinks of any but himself and his immediate kin.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Mmm. This is going to end well.

Of course it will.

Iron rods in the king’s clothes soon enough. The realm is in anarchy, and the counselors too stupid to realize that if they even just handle one issue at a time, they might stabilize things and not drive the king to madness. But no, poor Henry is perhaps the only man of uncommon blood in the kingdom who thinks of any but himself and his immediate kin.

Frankly that there are so many troubles at one time is indicative of the maladministration of this Council and the King.


To all - As always, many thanks for your reading and giving comment. It surely helps keep me going. I just finished Chapter 7 yesterday and there's some good stuff coming. We are past the midway mark of Chapter 6 and hopefully you'll enjoy (or at least appreciate) what is coming. Also a few notes on the scene above -

The Percy/Neville feud - I originally planned on writing the altercation itself but decided it worked better within all of the other issues. Though it is rather important because it marks the beginnings of what would become wrapped up in the other "battles" of the WOTR. Still keeping the Percies to the background but they will feature more as we move along.

The War in France - Not much has really changed here and I admit I include my own emotions into the scene when showing the frustrations of Burgundy not making peace. I mean, France is completely taken save for Paris and I was yelling at the screen! More on that later, but it was incredibly irritating.

Look for the next scene tomorrow when we get to what I am certain you are all expecting. Hopefully it works and is believable.

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

It would be so much easier if there was an absolute tyrant at the helm with some ambition. All of these problems can be rather easily solved with murder.

 

[coz1]

It would be so much easier if there was an absolute tyrant at the helm with some ambition. All of these problems can be rather easily solved with murder.

In an alternate universe, Henry has a goatee and is taking your advice completely. But that's not the one we're living in here.

 

[coz1]

Clarendon, August 1453​

In the fall of the year, Queen Margaret was seven months pregnant and to all appearances in public she seemed to beam with pride. To the contrary, King Henry who had shown great pride publicly when it was first announced now showed a markedly different figure. It was if a great reversal had occurred. The King’s mood was attributed by many to his various worries, most especially over the birth of what all hoped would be a son. All knew also that the still ongoing conflict to France remained well to his mind. In an effort to remove Henry from the rough and tumble of court and offer some respite, his counselors decided to arrange a hunting party to his favored lodge at Clarendon near Salisbury in Wiltshire.

It had been the Duke of Buckingham’s idea and he invited his fellow peers Henry Holland, the Duke of Exeter and Edmund Beaufort, the Duke of Somerset. Wives were also invited so that Margaret could attend with the hope that more time spent with her would bring Henry from his seeming great trouble. While the Queen got on well with both Eleanor Beauchamp and Anne Neville, the wives of Somerset and Buckingham respectively, she was less enthralled with the young Anne of York, the eldest daughter of Duke Richard and so she did not accompany her husband Exeter.

After a day of hunting, in which Henry hardly participated, the party retired to the lodge for a feasting of their kills. It was a decidedly intimate affair and so less formal. Rather than sit around a table, they held to their chairs close to the fire with the men to one side and the women to the other. To be sure, Eleanor and Anne pampered the Queen in her state. As for Henry, he remained quiet while Buckingham and Exeter compared their skills.

“I say to you, Stafford...that was ten points if it was the one,” Exeter suggested to Buckingham, “You missed yours there.”

Buckingham waved a hand, “The string to my bow was loose, I am certain. You know me well enough to know that I am a dead shot.”

“I was watching, Humphrey...” Anne humorously called over from her side of the room, “...and your shot fell far short. Tis a good thing our other Lords here did their part or we might have starved.”

“Indeed, Beaufort...” Exeter slapped Somerset to the back, “...you gained one more than I today. I believe you to have gone over your quota. What say you, Your Grace?”

Henry huddled with a cloak around him as he felt a chill and stared at the Duke of Somerset, “It is easy to gain more than one’s share when they...”

When he did not finish, Eleanor questioned, “Your Grace?”

“It matters not,” the King looked back to the fire, “We were fed.”

Anne Neville followed, “I do not recall that you missed a one, my Lord of Somerset. A fine showing. Would that my Lord husband had done likewise.”

“Now see here...” Buckingham scoffed.

Edmund Beaufort simply offered a smile, “Your Lord is skilled, my Lady. An off day and no less. We shall have to find him a new weapon for I know that he would best us all.”

“All but the King, of course,” Margaret replied as she held to her swollen belly, “His Grace is a fine hunter.”

“Indeed you are, sire,” Exeter agreed, “Tis a shame the weather kept you too far out of it today. Mayhap it will be a tad warmer on the morrow.”

Henry kept his eyes to the flames, “Mayhap.”

“Quite so, Your Grace,” Buckingham followed, “I thought tomorrow we might venture so far as the Henge, if you’ve a mind for it.”

“Oh...that would be splendid!” Eleanor exclaimed.

All seemed to agree except Henry who stood slowly. His cloak fell to the floor and he bent to pick it up but quit half way, “I...am sleepy, my Lords. Mayhap too much effort this day. I think to find my rest if you would not mind.”

Margaret took effort to stand and move to him, “Are you unwell, husband?”

He flinched at her touch, “I am perfectly fine. Just tired.”

“Then a good sleep, Your Grace,” Somerset stood as well, “Allow me to help you to your chamber.”

“No!” the King answered forcefully without looking to his Duke, “I know damn well where it is!”

They were left speechless as Henry shuffled off down the hall and it was only when they could no longer hear the dragging feet of the King that Exeter suggested, “He remains out of sorts.”

“He remains troubled that Philip of Burgundy will not make his peace,” Buckingham responded quickly, “There is naught to do within France until such time.”

Anne followed her husband, “I be certain that the King is mindful of the birth of his son. It must weigh heavily upon him.”

“Indeed, Your Grace...” Somerset looked to the Queen, “...it must be paramount to the both of you.”

Margaret moved back to her comfortable chair and took some pains to sit, “The heir is fine. Henry is fine. If he holds worry at all, it remains to Ludlow Castle and no place else.”

“Madam...” Buckingham responded to her, “...York has said little and less for these last many months. And from our hearing, the King trusts him still.”

Somerset moved to the fire to warm his hands, “He is a snake that writhes in the grass ready to strike when you do not see.”

“And more, must be smarting that I am now with issue,” Margaret followed, “He is only quiet because he plans his next move.”

Anne Neville shifted to sit next to Margaret and held at her hand, “My Lady Queen, I must say that I disagree. I among us would know them well. My brother Richard has served the King even with his troubles to the north and remains loyal. And Cis? Cecily is a strong headed woman, that be no doubt. She was as a child. Yet she is honest and would hold her husband to that creed.”

“Begging your pardon, my Lady,” Exeter replied, “But it has been some time since you shared a cradle with your siblings of Neville. Though she is not here and is loathe to speak against her mother, my young wife is surely troubled by the accounts that she receives in her letters. I know not that York plans...but he seethes.”

Somerset held a hand to the mantle of the fireplace and looked into the flames, “See how he plants seeds? A little at a time until the tree of treason grows.”

“You would do well to calm yourself, husband,” Eleanor admonished him, “There be no reason to upset my Lady Queen.”

He turned to them all, “Upset her? She agrees with me, do you not?”

Margaret demurred, “I...I am heavily in my state and may say all manner of things.”

“His Grace has been under undue pressure for some time,” Buckingham stood to refresh his drink, “First last year with the troubles with York, then the French war that continues...and now this ugly business between Percy and Neville to the north. He is caught six ways and knows not which is first.”

Exeter followed the Duke and held out his own cup to be filled, “Well, you know my feeling on this, Stafford. His mind should be to France.”

“And you, sir, are young!” Somerset drew up behind them, “I do not recall you ever lifting a sword to Normandy. I have. Our Lord of Buckingham here has. Have you?”

“Would you like to lift a sword at the now, sir?” Exeter turned with alacrity and a wide eye.

Anne held up her hands, “Sirs! Please. Do not rile the Queen or give her upset.”

“Men will be men, my Lady,” Margaret allowed a soft laugh, “Yet I do think it time to rest for myself as well.”

Eleanor and Anne were quick to help her to her feet. As they moved off, Exeter stepped forward, “My Lady Queen...I did not mean to harm you.”

She turned with a slight smile, “You did not, sir. Like my husband, I am tired. We shall resume on the morrow.”

When she was gone, Buckingham poked him, “Well done, Holland. You’ve managed to run them both off.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” Exeter exclaimed with dismay.

“It is no matter,” Somerset sounded as he too moved from the hall, “It has been a long day and we should all be to bed.”

Buckingham and Exeter were left alone and after watching him leave, they returned to the fire. They sat in silence for a time before Exeter questioned, “Did the Beaufort Lord seem off to you today?”

“What mean you?” Buckingham questioned as he sipped to his wine and looked to the fire.

“I may not place a finger to it,” Exeter considered it, “Yet he did show an unnatural concern about the Queen this day and very little towards His Grace.”

The elder Duke shrugged, “You are new to court, Holland. It has been thus for some time. He is her favorite and so, she is his.”

“Do you wonder if this is what effects the King?” the younger Duke questioned.

“He knows it well. His Grace holds no worry towards Somerset. Why else to keep him in position when he needs not?”

Exeter looked back to the hallway before turning back to the fire, “It is passing strange. There are times when I think my father in law to be correct.”

“Do not say that in her presence...nor the King’s,” Buckingham warned.

“Of course I would not...yet...” Exeter trailed off.

Buckingham looked to him with question, “Yet? You hold more?”

“No,” Exeter shook his head, “They are right. We should be abed. Long nights lead to plotting, do they not?”

Buckingham stood and drained his cup, “You hold a humor, young sir, that I do not. Yet you are correct on this. To the morrow.”

The elder Duke left for his chamber and soon after Exeter followed to his own. It was an uneventful night and when Buckingham awoke in the morning, the first thing he did after dressing was to attend upon the King. When he approached the chamber, Henry’s squire was out of sorts.

“Lad? What be the trouble?”

“My Lord...His Grace…he is...I know not!”

The Duke did not waste a moment and burst into Henry’s chamber to find the King motionless in his bed. Fearing the worst, he rushed to sit and felt to the King’s face and neck. Then his chest. A sigh of relief came over him as he felt a breath but when he asked the King to respond, he did not.

“Your Grace!!” he finally yelled to his face.

Henry did not reply.

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

In an alternate universe, Henry has a goatee and is taking your advice completely. But that's not the one we're living in here.

What a world.

York met with a mysterious accident. Somerset was executed for treason. The southern Lords fawn over the monarch. The Queen was burnt at the stake for witchcraft (and infidelity). The king married himself into the burgundian House to get them to recognise his claim to France and he their indepednance.

France is subdued and mostly grateful to England for saving them from the lowlanders. The pope is pleased because western Europe is no longer on fire and may well be willing to launch a crusade for him.

...

Anyway, what with the King's illness, it now means power play between all the various factions. York is in the strongest position outside the court, given he already has an assembled war alliance and is ready to go. The Queen is vulnerable because her only source to power is now absent, and anyone can accuse her of infidelity with impunity now.

Some sort of 'henry' faction which is actually the Queen, Somerset and their supporters, Yorkist faction and his supporters, and the southern faction oscillating between them.

War of the roses seems inevitable now. Goodbye getting anything good out of France.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

What a world.

York met with a mysterious accident. Somerset was executed for treason. The southern Lords fawn over the monarch. The Queen was burnt at the stake for witchcraft (and infidelity). The king married himself into the burgundian House to get them to recognise his claim to France and he their indepednance.

France is subdued and mostly grateful to England for saving them from the lowlanders. The pope is pleased because western Europe is no longer on fire and may well be willing to launch a crusade for him.

...

Anyway, what with the King's illness, it now means power play between all the various factions. York is in the strongest position outside the court, given he already has an assembled war alliance and is ready to go. The Queen is vulnerable because her only source to power is now absent, and anyone can accuse her of infidelity with impunity now.

Some sort of 'henry' faction which is actually the Queen, Somerset and their supporters, Yorkist faction and his supporters, and the southern faction oscillating between them.

War of the roses seems inevitable now. Goodbye getting anything good out of France.

I of course had to go with Henry getting sick. It's just too unbelievable to leave out. I'll speak more on it after the next post but it had to be there. And you're right TBC - this will have a negative effect on the war in France.

Expect the next scene tomorrow so plenty of time left for any other comments. I hope the onset of the illness makes sense.

 

[El Pip]

A few updates missed (as always @coz1 your pace remains terrifying) but I've caught up and looking back I detect a common theme - this recent run has been quite depressing. The Queen does evil but suffers no consequence. Good men are spurned and sycophants prosper. The King finally understands his wife, but his decline robs him of any chance to dispense justice and then strikes him low. There are no heroes, not even any tolerably likeable characters.

It is all looking a bit miserable really.