The Wars of the Roses

[Idhrendur]

I'm always in support of tweaking the game for a better narrative.

Okay, maybe not always. If you're doing a gameplay AAR and trying to impress the forums, don't cheat. But other than that...

 

[Nikolai]

Always do changes that suits the story. You will find no quarrel from me there, my friend. As one who only know the bare essensials of the War of the Roses, this is virgin territory for me, but I trust I will get eho’s who and where they sit eventually.

 

[DensleyBlair]

All caught up, and just in time for the 'gameplay' updates. Your changes to the save sound entirely reasonable; I am a big one for moulding the game to fit my idea of a starting scenario, so as others have said no quarrel from me on that score.

I'll be interested to see how things diverge from your created position, which is the truly fun part. Are we going to get Yorkist England? Will the Lancastrians somehow survive? Is there an ambitious young Welshman waiting over the hills to profit from everyone else's downfall? Or something entirely different still? So many possibilities. I can see why this is a scenario you've wanted to do for a while, coz. It is such a tantalising part of history.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Very logical and in keeping with the narrative intent - a sensible little mini mod.

A few good runs and the match fitness returns very quickly for the veteran player. I’m sure the literary touch downs will be coming thick and fast!

I certainly hope so.

I'm always in support of tweaking the game for a better narrative.

Okay, maybe not always. If you're doing a gameplay AAR and trying to impress the forums, don't cheat. But other than that...

When the little things don't quite match, I feel the need to alter a bit. Try not to do it much.

Always do changes that suits the story. You will find no quarrel from me there, my friend. As one who only know the bare essensials of the War of the Roses, this is virgin territory for me, but I trust I will get eho’s who and where they sit eventually.

Excellent and I hope I'm making it clear. This period can get really confusing with so many Richards, Margarets, Henrys, etc. Please always let me know if I'm not clear who is who.

All caught up, and just in time for the 'gameplay' updates. Your changes to the save sound entirely reasonable; I am a big one for moulding the game to fit my idea of a starting scenario, so as others have said no quarrel from me on that score.

I'll be interested to see how things diverge from your created position, which is the truly fun part. Are we going to get Yorkist England? Will the Lancastrians somehow survive? Is there an ambitious young Welshman waiting over the hills to profit from everyone else's downfall? Or something entirely different still? So many possibilities. I can see why this is a scenario you've wanted to do for a while, coz. It is such a tantalising part of history.

I've read about it for so long and it is so exciting to finally write it in full. Awesome that you've caught up! As stated, as a Brit I hope you'll keep me honest.


To all - Looking to start chapter 2 tomorrow. Thank you so much to all reading and giving me comment. It certainly helps keep me motivated and I love your takes!

 

[coz1]

Chapter 2: The Changing of the Guard

* * *

Greenwich, May 1447​

She was seventeen years old and there was not a man alive that could resist both her beauty and her charm. Margaret of Anjou seemed as if she was born to be a Queen. Her regal bearing, her high intelligence and her many talents were evident and none cared for her more than her King Henry VI. However, they had now been married for two years and as yet had not found issue. It was due to this that in certain circles, rumors began that perhaps the Queen was having an affair...or multiple affairs. After all, none could resist her powerful aura and there was no lack of potential suitors. Even William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, who had been reserved when he first met the Queen had changed his song and compared Margaret to a pretty flower in romantic verse devoted to her. This of course caused many to consider him one such partner. Another was Edmund Beaufort, Earl of Somerset. Often seen by her side at court functions until he was sent to Normandy to replace the Duke of York, their playful and flirtatious banter was heard by many.

Yet if the King had reservations or jealousy of such, it was not apparent. Henry doted on his Queen and showered her with gifts. He was easily led by her and almost appeared to request it. Where he was sometimes indecisive, she knew her mind instantly. Where he could be seen as too forgiving, she could be quite vindictive especially if something seemed a slight to her regal husband. Henry allowed her every whim, even going so far as to consent to her desire of being included in briefings of government, both domestically and military decisions. She often signed her name along with that of the King on his correspondence. To detractors (of which there were a few) it seemed as if they were truly co-rulers. But if the powers in the court party led by Suffolk and Somerset found trouble with this arrangement, they did not speak out. In truth, they appeared to encourage it. If the King was pleased, then they were happy and able to carry out their desires. And if Margaret was happy, then the King was pleased.

This day was one of those days. Traveling via the Thames, the King and Queen were touring the former residence of the late Duke of Gloucester. When Humphrey died, his property reverted to the crown and today Henry planned to gift this fine palace to his Queen. The couple were joined by the new Royal Treasurer George Carleton and Margaret’s constant companion since arriving in England, the knight Pierre de Brézé. In fact, it was Pierre that led the party as they moved through the gardens as if the gift was as much for him as it was for her. This was not an uncommon occurrence. He was known as her “chevalier servant” and had been by her side from before traveling to England having once been one of the most loyal subjects to her Lord father Rene d’Anjou. He was tall, handsome, strong...and nearly twenty years her senior. On rumors of affairs, his name likely came up more than any other.

“Ma Reine...” he exclaimed as they moved through the gardens, “...voici un endroit merveilleux pour une tonnelle!”

Margaret smiled at him but wagged a dainty finger, “Ah, ah, ah...en anglais s'il vous plait.”

Pierre was duly chastened and replied with a grin, “An arbour, madam. To feast, to sip...to set in shade and enjoy the surrounds.”

“An excellent idea, monsieur,” she smiled again and looked to her husband with question.

Henry took in her smile and returned it before looking to his treasurer, “Can it be done?”

George Carleton nodded slowly, slightly reticent but not wishing to anger the Queen, “Whatever Her Grace desires, my King. To be certain.”

She clapped and grinned as she took Pierre by the arm and walked on. As they continued their tour, she herself had many ideas, “Mayhap new latticed windows...here and there. To update the place.”

Pierre gave nod, “But of course. Perhaps to re-glaze the others?”

“Oui, oui!” she exclaimed and then pointed again, “And the floor tiles. They are in need of care. The former occupant has not kept with the fashion. Terracotta, do you not think?”

“A very wise choice, ma reine,” Pierre agreed, “With your monogram inlaid I should think.”

Margaret was enthusiastic and chatted on as Henry walked behind discussing with his treasurer, “Are you getting all of this?”

Carleton gave nod as he wrote, “Most certainly, Your Grace. Now shall this all be coming from your royal treasury, or shall some be culled from the Queen’s purse?”

A sharp glance back to him from Margaret caused him to go tight lipped, “Of course, Your Grace. The royal treasury.”

Henry smiled as caught up to his Queen. He took her hand and gave it a gentle kiss, “As long as we are placing your personal touches, mayhap new columns erected outside carved with marguerites, eh?”

“My blessed lord husband,” Margaret brushed his cheek as she looked to Pierre, “He does spoil me.”

Pierre offered a low bow of respect, “A most gracious King.”

She then went on to inspect the rest of the palace, “I should think new chambers would be built. I think not to lay in rest where the traitor slept. With a parlour and a gallery to overlook the gardens. New tapestries...”

“Whatever is your wish, my love,” Henry followed her as Pierre looked on with a grin.

“...and I think this furniture all too dated. It must be replaced.”

“My Lady Queen,” Carleton caught up, “The palace was only built in 1443 and the late Lord of Gloucester was certain that all was the most elegant.”

Pierre took a step towards him, “If madam desires it, monsieur.”

A look from the King was all that was required for him to acquiesce, “I’m certain that it can be arranged.”

Henry clapped, “Then it is settled. Any change that you desire. It shall be your house in every way.”

As the King conferred with his treasurer, Margaret and Pierre moved back into the sunlight surrounded by the gardens. Pierre smiled as he looked to the beauty, “He loves you very much, madam. Such a wonder to have such a caring benefactor.”

Margaret laughed, “Benefactor, monsieur? You jest! I have my own purse...my own means.”

“Mais oui,” he agreed but cocked a brow, “Yet to gift you this grand property. And that it comes from his still very much beloved uncle.”

“Who loves him?” she turned with a flare of her lips.

Pierre gave a slight bow, “There are those that continue to name him Good Duke Humphrey. This may...might be considered a slap to those supporters.”

“If they are not to care for me, then what care shall I have for them?” Margaret ventured to a stone bench and sat with confidence, “They are not of the court and their whispers are just that. Nothing but grievance and jealousy. You speak of benefactors, monsieur? Well...theirs is gone from them and so they will grumble.”

“Yet...” Pierre sat gently next to her, “...did not this Duke have children? Will they not seek to gain their inheritance?”

Margaret shrugged her dainty shoulders as she looked to the gardens, “I know not. And I care not. What I see before me is all promise and future. A beautiful garden, full of pleasure to be gained. In truth, I think to rename the place. Bella Court gets close to it, monsieur. But I think...Placentia. A far better naming, to my mind. A pleasant place to live. With you by my side...”

“But of course, ma reine,” Pierre gave nod with a grin.

“...And Suffolk and Somerset may come to me from this point on,” Margaret stood and shifted to brush at the flowers, “...and I think my lord husband the King may find it more pleasing himself. Perhaps a place to finally find me with child. His child. His son.”

Pierre raised a brow, “His most needed son.”

“The only son...” Margaret turned to her chevalier servant with determination, “...that matters.”

 

[DensleyBlair]

Margaret making her presence felt from the off, then. Fascinating figure and I remain eager to see what you do with her; whether things play out historically, or whether you have other plans.

What is of course most striking is this reference to sons that matter. An illegitimate child would be quite the spanner in the works, bearing likely future developments in mind!

 

[HistoryDude]

Margaret is quite the powerful woman.

And she seems to have plans...

 

[The Number 9]

I just caught up. It's a very well story you set up here. I like your gameplay choices.

Everybody around the king is making plots. It's definitely an AAR by coz1 set in England.

 

[Bullfilter]

“If they are not to care for me, then what care shall I have for them?”

A destructively self-fulfilling prophecy. I find Margaret an interesting but substantially irritating, arrogant figure, with more determination and willpower than judgement. I’m barracking for the Yorkists: that Henry VI - what a weak-willed loser as a king. He would have made a much better amateur flower-arranger or some such. Perfectly nice thing to do, but not to be put in charge of people. Let alone a kingdom, at that time.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Margaret making her presence felt from the off, then. Fascinating figure and I remain eager to see what you do with her; whether things play out historically, or whether you have other plans.

What is of course most striking is this reference to sons that matter. An illegitimate child would be quite the spanner in the works, bearing likely future developments in mind!

I'm really excited to finally write for her. The last was just a passing glance. Now she starts to get her urgency. And good eye on that last line. See the next scene.

Margaret is quite the powerful woman.

And she seems to have plans...

She most definitely has plans. Will they work out? That is much of the play.

I just caught up. It's a very well story you set up here. I like your gameplay choices.

Everybody around the king is making plots. It's definitely an AAR by coz1 set in England.

But of course. They say write what you know, and this is something I know more than fairly well.

A destructively self-fulfilling prophecy. I find Margaret an interesting but substantially irritating, arrogant figure, with more determination and willpower than judgement. I’m barracking for the Yorkists: that Henry VI - what a weak-willed loser as a king. He would have made a much better amateur flower-arranger or some such. Perfectly nice thing to do, but not to be put in charge of people. Let alone a kingdom, at that time.

I share your opinion on Margaret as we know her from history but maybe not Henry. I hope to lean into some of those traits/notions with this, but maybe upend some few others. Henry, especially, I think is misunderstood even if you are likely right as far as the historical record is concerned. And we have not even gotten into the "madness" yet which I aim to portray. Hopefully fairly and in my own way. The early parts of this will hue closely to RL. And then we will move...beyond.


To all - The next scene will follow but before we get there, I think it best to show these family trees:

Table 1:

Table 2:

Note: I never did table 3, but can if desired.

I think it helps to show who is what and where they came from, but hopefully that comes out in the writing. Especially as the next scene plays heavily into that.

As always, thank you for reading and giving such awesome comments!

 

[coz1]

Fotheringhay Castle, December 1447​

“I was four years of age...” Richard spoke in hushed tones as he sat by a low fire in his library, “...my sister Isabel...two years older. There was another...another Henry...and like mine own died too young. My mother, Anne...some say I killed her from my birth. Rich for the Mortimers and what was due to them. Yet I was four...and I know nothing but love for her. But she had already passed. And my step-mother, Maud...well...she did never take a liking to us. She’s dead too now...just last year. Lived well and mighty on my father’s coinage. Because he died in 1415. Shall I tell you how?”

The young man listening held many of the same features but kept his silence to listen to the answer given to his question. Richard sat back and held a cup of mulled wine to his lips. He was no great man of libation, but this night called for some. Placing it aside, he looked deep into the fire, “My father...was also Richard. He was a grandson of King Edward III by his own father Edmund of Langley. And he was also grandson to the noted Peter the Cruel, King of Castile and Leon...and some mistress. Royal blood, my son. No doubt about it.”

“Yet my grandfather...he was younger...younger than my mother’s great-grandfather Lionel of Antwerp...my grandfather had to beg for the scraps. He was not the Black Prince. He was not John of Gaunt. All princes of the blood, you see...but not all equal. Not then. But he gained his due in time. Some say he was to be named heir apparent under King Richard II. But then he died...Richard the King...and Bolingbroke and his ilk used his father’s claim. A nasty bit there...as it always is.”

The Duke leaned forward with determination in his eyes, “And so my grandfather had two sons...Edward, the second Duke of York who died bravely at Agincourt fighting the perfidious French...and my father Richard.”

A brief laugh escaped his breath as he continued, “Strangely enough, Agincourt occurred two months after my father’s death. He’d been named the Earl of Cambridge. Some say the poorest of the Earls. And he too was supposed to set sail for France for that fateful day. Yet he lacked the funds. Something about which I am all too aware. And instead...”

Richard turned to his companion with a wide eye showing no amusement, “...he decided to plot against his King. Can you imagine?!”

The younger man shook his head in the negative and so Richard continued, “A conspiracy...with Scrope and Grey...all to place my other forebear Mortimer, the Earl of March on the throne in place of King Henry V. Well...it had been done before! Why not?! What is a Richard II when you might have a Henry IV?! What is kingship...and loyalty?! What is honor to your liege lord?!”

“No thing!” Richard stood to refresh his mulled wine. He dipped the ladle carefully and poured his cup. He offered another to the younger man but when the other shook his head no, Richard continued as he looked over his books with determined eyes, “I was four years old...nearly the same age as my boys, Edward and Edmund...and I lost my father to the headsman. Cut clean off!”

The younger man finally spoke, “Yet here you are...third Duke of York. Mayhap the most powerful magnate in the land. You were not punished. You were allowed to gain what was due to you!”

Richard turned slowly with clear eyes. His neck, thick as it was already, seemed to bulge in his distaste, “My family married well. Yours did not.”

“My father...” the younger man attempted to counter but Richard cut him off.

“Your father...if in fact he was your father...tried to ply me with the winds of rebellion...the whiff of treachery...the note of a plot which would have gone poorly. As it did for him. The only reason I meet with you now is to gauge your interest in such things, for I shall not be brought low by the likes of you or any other man. I am proud and serve my King proudly. I cannot assist you to gain your desired inheritance for that is the wages of power, sir. The hand that attempts to cleave will soon find itself cut clean off. And the head. For that is what happens to traitors.”

The young man quickly rose and began to back from the library but Richard held up a hand, “Make no mistake, sir. I shall not speak on this. To any person. And nor should you follow on with your idiotic ideas. If the Duke of Gloucester was your father...then I am sorry for the loss you may find. Yet your mother still lives...and is a witch...and lives within the Tower. Take a care when you make your next step, my son. You may not find one as fair as I when you do.”

The young man bowed and showed all apologies as he departed the room and Richard could only snort, “Foolish youth.”

“Are you quite done?” another voice echoed in the icy air as Cecily entered the library, “I thought you to be hours. Who was this visitor?”

Richard looked back to the fire as he sipped at his wine, “Names himself Arthur. Child of Eleanor Cobham...and you recall that calumny, do you not?”

Cecily moved to him and embraced his back as he stared into the fire, “Yet why give such time to the son of a witch, husband? Surely you have better things to do?”

“He says that he is son to Humphrey,” Richard turned to her and gently kissed at her cheek, “One of two, he says. Has a sister named Antigone even. Can you imagine? I recall some such, but any issue Gloucester found was not legitimized and finds no claim.”

She brushed his cheek with love, “Bella Court?”

“Of course,” Richard answered as he led her to a settle, “There are many reasons to find fault with what has occurred there, but I see not his case. Should he wish to take it up with the King...well...I hope that he is made of firmer stuff.”

She pulled him down and close to sit with her, “And so you rightly sent him on his way. Yet do you not find some issue yourself? The sad death of Good Duke Humphrey...whatever your feelings towards him...portends poorly. And then the Cardinal? No love loss there, husband...yet things have been altered.”

Richard offered a slim smile, “The Beauforts do rise...yet what fear is that for you, dear wife. You do find yourself raised by that stock.”

“Mine was a lady,” Cecily teased at him, “And these are men. Ruthless men, husband. I know that you are plenty worthy...but Edmund especially sees his fortune rise high. The Cardinal left him a great boon.”

“They are parvenus,” Richard countered, “Most especially Suffolk. De la Pole is smitten by power, but as it always does...what goes up must then come back down again. Men that think about only one thing always lose sight of what else may matter.”

She pulled him close and placed a loving hand to his rugged cheek, “Richard...we have been blessed to be back to here at Fotheringhay. We’ve our fine children. Our Anne has seen her beautiful match with Henry, Duke of Exeter, my Lord. Shall be a lovely wedding when her time comes. Edward and Edmund have been given titles...and approved. And I may have another surprise for you.”

“You are not?!” he playfully asked.

Cecily kissed him before answering, “I know not, yet the new moon grows closer. We shall see. Yet before I may go through that labor, I am more concerned with yours. Somerset is the one, husband. I know well that the letters from King Henry IV bar them from the throne...yet our own Henry loves them as if brothers.”

Richard pulled away slightly as he showed some pride, “I shall find no fear from Edmund Beaufort, my dear. Never him. He is not his father...nor any of that brood. It is Suffolk that gives me pause. Named all manner of things...Chamberlain of England, Captain of Calais, Warden of the Cinque Ports and scores of other titles. He is the one to watch, for I think he thinks he is fully in.”

“And yet Henry still holds no sons,” Cecily reminded, “No heirs. Humphrey was heir presumptive. Now? It must be you. Only you hold the blood of Kings, Richard.”

He offered a tepid laugh, “Now you would have me plot?!”

“Not plot,” Cecily replied with care and a stern eye, “But plan. You must not let your place be forgotten.”

Richard stood firmly and went to the fire with irritation, “I’ve said before that you are too wise to be my wife. I’ve already received my next commission.”

“Back to Normandy...and again away?” she asked with plaintive eyes.

He turned with scorn upon his face, “Nay. I received notice today that our King desires me as the new Lord Lieutenant in Ireland. His own representative!”

Cecily sat with her hands tightly gripped and looked to her husband with firmness, “A place to place you decidedly away, my Lord. Now do you see?”

With care, Richard moved back to his wife and cupped her cheek, “If you are truly once more with child...then I cannot go. Not yet.”

“I may not be, my Lord?” she replied, “And you would be defying the orders of our King.”

“I will find a way, my lady,” Richard bent down to kiss her head, “If naught else, we may make progress to Ludlow. Out of reach to Somerset or Suffolk. My day has yet to come, but I must make certain that my voice is heard. By council...by my cousin.”

Cecily held his hand with worry still, “Difficult to do in Ireland, husband. Or even Ludlow.”

He smiled at her, “I say again, my love...I shall find a way.”

 

[HistoryDude]

York seems to be a reluctant plotter.

But he plots all the same.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

York seems to be a reluctant plotter.

But he plots all the same.

Indeed. It seems everyone in this story does.

 

[coz1]

London, February 1448​

“He didn’t take to it,” Arthur stated as he sat hard to the chair by her table.

Antigone showed a harsh eye, “That was our father! How could you not convince him?!”

Arthur showed worried eyes, “He is the premier magnate, Ann! It was a fool’s errand to see him in the first place. That I am not in the gallows now speaks to his character...but I am now suspect. We’ll not see anything from our father’s largess.”

“Such that he gave to us!” she chuffed, “And do you see much round here to speak from what I gain from my lord husband? Do you?!”

“It is more than a fine house, Ani,” he attempted to plead but she would have none of it.

Tossing her apron aside in the meager kitchen, Antigone moved to him and placed her hands to his shoulders, “Do you see my husband about, brother? He is, in truth, Lord Earl of Tankersville and Powys! Why then am I not at Powis Castle, I ask of you? Why are my young children not round to bite at my ankles such is their age? My youngest is barely twelve!”

“Our father?” he asked as much as he answered, “Or mayhap our mother?”

Antigone spit upon the floor, “That witch is not my mother! Claim her if you wish, but I maintain that I am the true child of Jacqueline, Countess of Hainaut and Holland! She did not wish to claim me over bitterness...did not wish to associate her time with our father with his time with the witch!”

“You are harsh, Ani,” Arthur looked to the floor with dejection, “She raised you and I.”

She pressed her hands tighter, “And where did that lead her? Hmm? To the bloody Tower!”

Antigone released her grip and moved to grasp at the window overlooking the small garden, “Always jealous, she was. At the affection father showed to me. Just as my Lord husband shows to my...Have you not seen another?”

He turned up as she changed her tone, “I did! Went to see the Lord of Suffolk himself, Ani! He turned me out as much as the Lord of York! They wish naught to do with us. Good Duke Humphrey is gone...and so we are too. I know not what else to do? Somerset is off to Normandy again. I dare not try and see the King...”

“You are a fool and twice!” she shouted to him, “No son of our father! Take your wares and be gone from my house! I’ll not support you! Nor shall my lord husband! Be gone, Arthur of whomever and whatever! You are useless!!!”

Dejected and torn in his emotions, Arthur meekly stood to leave. He considered a final word, but the look from his older sister stopped his tongue and instead he departed into the night without a sound. Where was he to go? What was he to do? Until now, he’d lived on a meager allowance given to him by his lordly father. That was no more since his death. No assistance given by those men of rank and power. No respect or even acknowledgment of his state and bearing. Arthur was twenty years of age and utterly alone. No prospects for the future and no idea how to gain them.

He shuffled along the dark streets of London on a cold and rainy night. It seemed as if hours for he had no true destination. As he neared Eastcheap, Arthur heard a commotion outside the Boar’s Head Inn just ahead. A scruffy looking man was being roughed up by a gang of toughs and he heard their jeers, “...don’t come round here without coin...likes of you not good enough for the river even...if we see your bloody face again, you’ll good and well lose it...”

Arthur was not sure why or how he mustered the courage, but he stepped forward to shout, “You there! Stop this!”

The three men turned and scowled at him, unhanding their prey. The largest of the three stepped forward, “And who might you be?!”

“What has he done?” Arthur asked with trepidation.

“Never you mind!” the largest answered but another followed with, “He don’t pay his bill!”

With little coin to his pocket, Arthur still felt poorly for the older man and fished what few he held from his purse. He stood firm as he tossed them to the ground, “I expect that covers his drink. Now leave him be.”

The leader of the gang bent to gather the coin and bit to one. Satisfied, he nodded to the others and led them away. The scruffy looking man held to his legs on the street, but finally looked up with questioning eyes.

“Why would you help me?”

Arthur almost found a laugh as he answered, “I haven’t the faintest idea. I’m no man of courage. Yet your state reminds me of myself this night. A man in need...as I am.”

With a slight build, the older man struggled to pick himself up from the street but finally stood in pain. He began to limp away as he pointed, “Best not to linger, squire. They’re sure to return in vengeance. With a copper or two, we might find a hideaway at the Pig and Poke. Few go there. Too seedy even for the likes of them.”

“I’m afraid I offered up my last ha-pence,” Arthur replied as he followed as if by instinct.

“Then you’re no better off than I,” the older man snorted as he moved past the empty meat stalls and found a quiet spot to sit on the ground. He nursed his injuries as best he could and then looked up with another question, “You’re dressed finer than this lot. Whatever are you doing in a place like this?”

Arthur stood over him and looked him up and down, “I’d say those breeches were fine once. Mayhap threadbare now, but you did not come by them with no coin.”

“My former employ,” the older man stated as he gently pressed at his bloody lip, “Lived high as a hog till I was tossed out. Bloody Somerset!”

“The Earl?” Arthur found deep question and sat next to the man, “What know you of him?”

“Nephew to the Cardinal...and no friend of mine,” he answered, “I was there when old Beaufort died. Not a friend round him but myself. And what is my thanks? Not even a reward from those with little care.”

“Hmph,” Arthur laughed as he looked to the ground before him.

The older man tilted his head, “What’s so damned funny?”

“We’re more alike than we know,” Arthur replied without returning the gaze, “Great men take a fall...and then we fall with them even though we still live.”

With narrowed eyes, the older man questioned, “I hesitate to repeat what that bloke asked...but who might you be, squire?”

“You won’t believe me...few men do,” Arthur replied.

“I am Thomas...of Bath,” the older man pressed hard to his chest, “Not so tough as that. A simple answer is all that is required.”

Arthur finally turned and looked to him, “And I...am the son of Humphrey.”

With a squint, Thomas peered at his new friend before finally finding shock, “Blimey! We’re not the same at all!”

“And yet we are, my good mate,” Arthur answered as he looked again to the ground, “I’ve not a pot to piss in and neither have you. Touched by princes of the blood...and damned for it.”

Thomas kept a questioning gaze, “I don’t know bout that. I don’t come from royalty, squire. Meager raising...little coin. Have not but a wife and children who have not seen of me in years.”

“And why is that?” Arthur tossed a rock and watched as it skipped through the muddy dirt.

“She’ll be disappointed in me,” Thomas answered, “Runs a tavern...back to Bath. It was her father’s. She keeps the children. I thought to make a life for us...serve the Cardinal. Make some coin and mayhap...earn some prestige. My father served the late Lord of Bedford in France...and then returned home penniless. I should have known.”

Arthur looked up towards the Tower visible in the distance, “You should return to your wife...your children. Surely they are missing of you.”

“And what of you and yours?” Thomas questioned, “Have you no thing? Truly?”

“I have what you see here,” Arthur turned and spread his arms wide, “Son of a prince...and now a pauper.”

Thomas offered a squint of his eye, “If you are truly who you say you are...and I give you no disagreement...but you...are not safe, squire. I know little...and even less than that...but my time with the Cardinal taught me some few things. A man of your bearing...and your state...will be hunted.”

“You need not tell me,” Arthur followed quickly with a dejected reply.

The older man placed a hand softly to Arthur’s shoulder, “The Lord of Somerset is a cruel man, sir. He’ll be looking for you.”

“And I must vanish with the wind,” Arthur replied with scorn, “Or so I have already been told.”

“It would be in your interest,” Thomas gave nod.

Arthur looked to him with sure question, “And so where would I go? As we agree, we’ve neither one a pot to piss in.”

“Maybe Lizzie...” Thomas looked out towards the river in thought, “...she might take me back.”

“I thought that you were ashamed,” the younger man questioned.

Thomas turned back to him with a firm eye, “You likely saved my life this night, squire. A fortuitous meeting, for myself at the least. I should do no less than to return the favor.”

“I promise you that there is no gain to be had,” Arthur stated plainly.

“Mayhap not...my lord,” Thomas showed a slight grin, “Yet you need a safe keeping, and so do I. The claws are out all over. And Bath is a very pretty place.”

 

[HistoryDude]

Arthur is not in a great position...

Antigone is harsh. Also, why does she have a Greek name?

 

[DensleyBlair]

Two updates to catch up on, and very nicely they worked read as a pair. Richard is gradually coming to the realisation that securing his position will require a little bit of active work, while Arthur is thinking lord knows what. I wonder just how significant the young man will prove.

Antigone is harsh. Also, why does she have a Greek name?

Gloucester was a very literary man, so I imagine that gives a clue.

 

[Bullfilter]

“Nay. I received notice today that our King desires me as the new Lord Lieutenant in Ireland. His own representative!”

Cecily sat with her hands tightly gripped and looked to her husband with firmness, “A place to place you decidedly away, my Lord.

Best away from the coming debacles in Normandy - if such they also be in this time line.

“Son of a prince...and now a pauper.”

Good name for a book-and-movie deal there

“Mayhap not...my lord,” Thomas showed a slight grin, “Yet you need a safe keeping, and so do I. The claws are out all over. And Bath is a very pretty place.”

OK, so we have a combination of smaller story arcs into perhaps a longer one now, beneath the vaulted doings of royalty and the great magnates, but no doubt likely to intersect with them again.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Arthur is not in a great position...

Antigone is harsh. Also, why does she have a Greek name?

No, he is not. And the answer to your question is quite possibly the one given by Densley below. Researching Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester was interesting especially when I got to any issue. Of his two marriages, he did not have any legitimate children but he did have supposedly two illegitimate children by unknown mistresses. It is quite possible that Eleanor Cobham (tried and convicted as a witch in 1441 by the way) was the mother of one or both and they were illegitimate because Humphrey had yet to divorce his first wife and later marry Eleanor when these two were likely born. A bit is known of Antigone (her real name) but almost nothing of Arthur other that he supposedly died in 1447. Hmmm...same year as Humphrey.

Thus when I read all that, I thought I had found an interesting angle to add to the whole story.

Two updates to catch up on, and very nicely they worked read as a pair. Richard is gradually coming to the realisation that securing his position will require a little bit of active work, while Arthur is thinking lord knows what. I wonder just how significant the young man will prove.


Gloucester was a very literary man, so I imagine that gives a clue.

I imagine they were as they both introduced Arthur and starts to pull the various threads together. What I really love about the Arthur character is that I can do pretty much anything with him given how little is known in RL. I have some interesting plans but it might take a while to get there.

Best away from the coming debacles in Normandy - if such they also be in this time line.

Good name for a book-and-movie deal there

OK, so we have a combination of smaller story arcs into perhaps a longer one now, beneath the vaulted doings of royalty and the great magnates, but no doubt likely to intersect with them again.

I'm starting to introduce and develop the smaller characters which I think will make this work far more than what I had planned the last time around. I hope so. There will be more to introduce, but I liked these two to start and was a nice meet cute.


To all - Thanks all for the reads and comments. I have the next scene ready to post and it will follow. I'm trying not to go too fast here so folks can keep up, but as always I've written rather a lot in a short time and want to get it out. I hope every few days is reasonable. Thanks again.

 

[coz1]

Greenwich, April 1448​

“I am sorry, my Lord...yet you did what?!”

Margaret looked through her mirrored glass and shot daggers to the newly named Duke of Suffolk with her eyes.

William de la Pole stammered, “My lady...your Grace...how was I to know?”

“It is a simple thing, my Lord of Suffolk...” Edmund Beaufort answered to him as he stood by the window of Margaret’s parlour at Placentia, “...any child of Humphrey, however suspect, is a child of the blood. From the crown. Did you not see?”

“He is right, my Lord,” Margaret stood and shifted to look William clear in the face, “You gain your place from your promise. Named a Duke when none but the King’s family has ever been gifted before. There is a reason for that.”

“My lady...” he began to answer but Edmund stopped him as he pressed.

“We all know the troubles we might find from York and his ilk...why in the world would you allow another?!”

The Duke of Suffolk stood more firmly, “With apologies to Her Grace...and to you, sir...we are near to time of crises. Our sire is undecided as regards Maine and Anjou, and unapologetic about it. What words have I to say to change his mind?”

Margaret made shift to sit once more and looked to him through the mirror, “You conflate the two, my Lord. One is an honorable peace made between God anointed monarchs. The other is...”

“A threat to our very existence, sir!” Edmund rounded on the Duke with fierceness, “You do not know how to hunt, as much as you may try! If you strike the beast, you must kill it!”

“It is only humane, my Lord,” Margaret followed.

The Duke of Suffolk attempted to answer for himself as he showed sharp eyes to the Duke of Somerset, “You should not even be to here, sir! Do you not hold duties to Rouen and Normandy? Are they not wanting of your talents?!”

Edmund narrowed his eyes in his response, “The Duke of York has yet to take up his challenge to Ireland. Why then should I?!”

“Because it is your charge!” Suffolk answered with strength.

Margaret sought to diffuse the situation and stood to pull them together, “My Lords...here we have a delicate situation. There are many pieces. Do you not see them? You, my Lord Suffolk, are the man to see my husband’s will done in this kingdom. And you, my Lord of Somerset...given the rank and commission within Normandy. You are two pieces of his mind...strong and gallant. His armor and his hammer...”

“It is difficult, my lady...Your Grace...” Edmund spewed his venom, “...when the man given license to see about our country’s welfare may see no further than the trees.”

William shrugged his shoulders and answered with contempt, “Who is this child?! Why should you worry?! He is naught but a bastard...born of a witch. One that we control, I might add. She is locked to the Tower and no thing to us. And neither is the son!”

Edmund was about to respond, but Margaret stayed his words, “My Lord...anything...and everything...that places a challenge to my husband...your King...is suspect.”

“I can’t believe that you let him go!” Edmund finally answered leaving the Duke of Suffolk two replies.

He looked first to the Queen, “Your Grace...I am loathe to challenge your desires, or that of our King, as regards France. I’ve done little since I gained my place but to see these ends enacted. We are the peace party...as you might wish. Yet His Grace is suffering mightily from opinion. The commons...the people...they do find bitterness and anger, my Lady. He is the target for their retribution.”

William then turned to Somerset, “And you, my Lord...what care have you for the illegitimate son of a man now dead? He is no threat to you, and neither should be this so-called son. It is not proved and who shall honor the words of a convicted witch who spends her days to the Tower? Better she be burned, but it is a done thing!”

“Who cares of the mother?!” Edmund shouted, “She could not inherit!!”

The Duke of Suffolk stood his ground, “It is apparent that you do. Is your lack of good standing that worrisome, my Lord?”

“My Lord Suffolk...my Lord Somerset...” Margaret again attempted to calm them both, “...let us sit. There is but one true worry within and that is the Duke of York. My husband, the King...he chooses to pray on it for he is Godly. I do find my respect for the Almighty, but I shall not be found wanting without mine own actions. The two of you have been given great promotion...”

“Never before seen by one that was not a prince of the blood!” Edmund nearly spit.

“His Grace finds trust in me!” William spit back before the Queen helped him settle to a chair.

She stood over them and offered her most pleasant smile, “The both of you are trusted...by myself and more importantly by His Grace King Henry. He holds my opinion high, but I remain a mere girl...not yet reached two decades in life. Since the death of your uncle the Cardinal, my Lord Somerset, it is now the two of you that might sway the council as well as lead the King to his right choices. Yet you do both know that our Lord of York holds his own wish to sit the council and gain the ear of my husband. More to that, it is said that he now styles himself as Richard Plantagenet...”

William squinted slightly, “I must allow that he does not in any correspondence with myself.”

“Once more, my Lord...” Edmund scoffed, “...you do not see the implication of it. He would wish all to know of his close affinity with the royal house. A man of his means, and his lineage, is most dangerous. Especially as he holds powerful friends. Much coin and thus men of armor can be found in his employ.”

Margaret shifted to lower herself next to William and draped a dainty arm over his shoulder so she might whisper into his ear, “Does he desire to give good counsel...or does he mayhap desire more?”

“Especially as the Queen has yet to grant him a male heir,” Edmund plainly stated as he showed an apologetic face to Margaret, “Forgive me, my Lady.”

She stood and circled back to her own chair, “Nothing to forgive for it remains sadly true. My gracious husband is perhaps too long with the Lord God at times and at others with matters of state. Thus again...why he is in need of good men like yourselves.”

“Know all this well I do,” William de le Pole attempted to calm his anger, “Why do you think I counseled His Grace to name Richard as Lieutenant in Ireland? Far away and no harm to anyone but mayhap the Irish. What I cannot understand is this fear of a bastard child of Humphrey? There is no legitimacy there...as you well know my Lord of Somerset.”

Edmund bristled again understanding the very clear dig at his own lineage but tried to remain without hostility, “As you have already stated, there are members out there that have many questions as regards our own counsel. You are blamed for the loss of Maine and Anjou, my Lord. You have thus far weathered the storm of it, but after the French King put Le Mans to siege to take it back...and His Grace finally relented to give it over...the outrage is palpable. The people are loathe to blame their King. They would much rather aim their arrows at us. We may well be removed if it grows too fierce and then there is no wall between the commons and His Grace. At such time, whom do you think they may turn to? Whom might they champion?”

“None but a rightful heir, my Lord,” Margaret turned again with a firm eye, “One...or another...that holds the blood of Plantagenet. As I understand it, this has happened before. To the benefit of my Lord husband His Grace when his own grandfather gained the throne. Yet it may well turn against him. Frankly, my Lord, for I know you as a man of high intelligence and generally good prudence...I must also suggest that you lack clear eyes upon this.”

With a deep sigh, the Duke of Suffolk grimaced, “I did think to follow up after the boy came to see my office...but he appears to have vanished.”

Edmund stood and strolled to the window with his arms firmly behind his back, “Then you must search harder, my Lord. He cannot have disappeared.”

“And you are Lord Chamberlain, dear William...” Margaret stood and placed a soft hand to his shoulder, “...and hold a good many things at your disposal as well. Find the boy...and allow poor and ill whispers of York to grow. Our entire endeavor depends upon it. Ours... and that of your King.”

 

[Bullfilter]

Edmund narrowed his eyes in his response, “The Duke of York has yet to take up his challenge to Ireland. Why then should I?!”

“Because it is your charge!” Suffolk answered with strength.

A good point well made. That hard won by the king’s great father stands in peril.

The people are loathe to blame their King. They would much rather aim their arrows at us. We may well be removed if it grows too fierce and then there is no wall between the commons and His Grace.

It’s like politicians these days when they go from ‘under attack’ to ‘embattled’ and ‘in the bunker’: as soon as the blame deflected from the king to them becomes strong enough to be labelled Evil Councillors, they are in mortal peril. They will only be partially removed though: just their heads.