The Wars of the Roses

[Midnite Duke]

It is said that a rising tide raises all ships, but Warwick is only concerned with the HMS Neville. With his piracy/smuggling, Warwick is best served by a weak central government, no matter who is at the helm. He also fears being shoved to the side by a school of smaller fish, as he has seen happen to York.

@El Pip, opposing Queen Cecily Lannister does not make one a fan of the Dornish Queen Fancy. (Though a warm tarte aux myrtilles with some cool whipped English cream does sound appetizing.) One is simply trying to prevent Cecily's brood of inbred twelve-toed hunchbacks from penetrating every crevice of proper society before Henry Targaryen can land his dragon at the King's Court.

Margaret's mirror is no longer hesitating when she asks who is the fairest in the land. Margaret is an aging lady who in CK3 terms is neutral on the beauty scale while Fancy is at least pretty. Margaret worries that Richard will start sampling fresh tarts instead of week-old bread. (Whether maybe not Fancy specifically, Fancy represents Margaret's greatest fear.

 

[Kurt_Steiner]

This would be solved if York served the Queen et al a Black Dinner.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Bullshit.

Alright, I'm on Warwick's side now. This is getting ridiculous. Storm the castle, and the Chapel if needs be, and drag that sorry ass King out in front of everyone and have him finally make one sodding decision for his Crown, or have him removed from it.

At this point, civil war is preferable to leaving this court and that woman in charge.

Easier said than done, but I am certain there is wide spread agreement with this sentiment. I'm frankly a little surprised that Buckingham is going along with all of this, and I wrote it.

Fact is, no matter how pernicious is the Queen, Warwick (and York before him) are making it very hard to give support to their cause. And yes...where exactly is he King?

Warwick is acting too rashly. He's right, of course, but even so...

Why hasn't the king attempted to reign Margaret in at all, though? One would think that he would want to prevent outright targeting of Yorkists at the very least... unless he is praying as England burns.

I'm having to tread a very fine line with King Henry at this point. When I read this history the first time, I definitely had the same thought. He wasn't ill (at least not how he was some years back) but clearly became even more passive than he had been prior to this date. What could cause it? I suppose it is a combination of things as nothing is ever so simple as one true cause. They could be 1.) After effects of his illness, 2.) His general piety taking more and more of his thoughts, 3.) A sense of defeatism after St. Albans and/or 4.) Manipulation by the Queen and Council. As I am writing it, he is more to the background than ever and really King in name only. Yes he should act on his prerogative and actually rule, but I believe that by this point he did not really want to. It is unforgivable in retrospect despite the lofty idea of his spiritual pursuits because it is this passivity that allows what happens next.

Also..."praying as England burns" is quite good. Well done, sir!

It is said that a rising tide raises all ships, but Warwick is only concerned with the HMS Neville. With his piracy/smuggling, Warwick is best served by a weak central government, no matter who is at the helm. He also fears being shoved to the side by a school of smaller fish, as he has seen happen to York.

This is a very interesting thought. You are right that a weak Crown/Council allows him to run free. I'd think his motivation is and will remain power. Not just to use the weak Council for his own means but to control it from the top.

@El Pip, opposing Queen Cecily Lannister does not make one a fan of the Dornish Queen Fancy. (Though a warm tarte aux myrtilles with some cool whipped English cream does sound appetizing.) One is simply trying to prevent Cecily's brood of inbred twelve-toed hunchbacks from penetrating every crevice of proper society before Henry Targaryen can land his dragon at the King's Court.

I'd be careful using ASOIF analogies even if those characters were largely based on these. None of them are one to one comparisons. Further, I'd be especially careful assuming that these characters (specifically York and Cecily's brood) will come out exactly like their real life counterparts. It is true that I am holding fairly close with the older ones, but in this story anything can change (as can hopefully be seen with my characterization of Edward/Ned as an example.)

Margaret's mirror is no longer hesitating when she asks who is the fairest in the land. Margaret is an aging lady who in CK3 terms is neutral on the beauty scale while Fancy is at least pretty. Margaret worries that Richard will start sampling fresh tarts instead of week-old bread. (Whether maybe not Fancy specifically, Fancy represents Margaret's greatest fear.

So you are admitting that Margaret is an "evil Queen" ?

This would be solved if York served the Queen et al a Black Dinner.

Yes, but who to cater it?

Knowing that you know much of this history, patience my friend. It is coming, but slowly. Always slowly.


To all - To follow on from the above, the recent scene is (to me) somewhat of an inciting incident to what will come later. True we saw the near fight at Blackheath and then the eventual "battle" at St. Albans (I qualify this because it was so brief and really didn't accomplish anything in the long run) but this is the start of true hostilities with arms. Warwick has been pressing this in a manner that York was unwilling and one can either blame him or cheer him on depending on your views. There is reason that I focused this chapter on him because I do think that he brought this matter to a head. Has he made mistakes? Yes. Did he mean to force military means to a governmental/political issue? I think also yes. As much as he may be "hurt" by the above, I believe this is precisely what he desired. It is said "shit or get off the pot" and I believe that Warwick is over the waiting that York and his father Salisbury were content with even as they complained about it.

The next scene will come Thursday and get us near to the end of chapter 12. And just yesterday, I finished writing chapter 14 with the next three chapters already plotted out. As a bit of warning and/or spoiler, this cold war (such that it has been) is about to get hot. So get ready!

As always, thank you all for the excellent comments and your reading and support throughout. We are nearing the two year mark on working on this story (which I know is chump change compared to @El Pip and his "slower than real time" practice) and your efforts reward mine every single time.

 

[coz1]

Cheshire, December 1458​

“Excuse me, sir!” Thomas heard the Earl say as he brushed past him.

Thomas said not a word as he watched the young Earl of March knock to the chamber door. After a second knock, he did answer, “I believe the Lord to find a slumber.”

“I’m sorry? You are?” Edward asked.

“No thing, my Lord,” Thomas replied, “Merely a servant.”

Edward was out of sorts and pointed, “Then if you serve, could you wake the man? I wish to see him!”

“Of course, my Lord,” Thomas answered as he opened the chamber door to find the Duke of Somerset to a seat by his desk, “My Lord...you have a caller.”

“I said that I did not wish a disturbance!” Henry Beaufort turned with fury.

Thomas made bow, “My most humble apologies, my Lord. This one would not wait.”

The Duke eyed over the servant’s shoulder and spied Edward. He softened and showed a heavy sigh, “Very well. I shall see him.”

“Shall I bring to you refreshment, my Lord?” Thomas asked as Edward slipped into the chamber.

“No...” Somerset answered as he looked to his friend, “...leave us now. We should like to be alone.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” Thomas bowed again to the both of them, “And you, my Lord.”

As the chamber door closed, Edward held to it with his back. He tried to smile. When no word was said, he finally uttered, “You have no thing to say?”

“What would you have me say?” Henry asked.

Edward stepped to him, “You might say how sorry you are.”

“For what?” Somerset questioned.

“My cousin is like to have been stripped from his position!” Edward answered, “And for no other but you. More to that...he is seen to have a fight! From your very own, Harry!”

Henry Beaufort stood tall and smiled, “We did have this discussion. I did tell you. Do not act surprised when I carry on.”

“I...I am not surprised,” Edward considered his words, “Yet...I did not think you so vengeful. Is it him...or is it...me?”

Somerset stepped closer, “Why would it be you?”

“You dislike my father!” Edward suggested strongly, “And you have said...”

Henry smiled again, “I’ve told you, Ned. It is not your father. It is not you. It is him!”

“Yet your own people!” Edward followed, “And led by some upstart! What is his name? A nobody! Have we not found our own in these long years?!”

“What you see as long, sir...” Henry answered to him, “...is due to your short age. I am undiminished in my quest and I hold no sorrow for what begat the Earl of Warwick.”

Edward was anguished, “Why do you hold so tightly, Harry?!”

“Because I must!” Somerset quickly replied with strength, “I need not explain it again to you! This man...this evil man...has poisoned my house! Kin to you or no...I will not rest!”

“And so you would tear asunder all that we have made?!” Edward asked just as quickly.

Henry skewed a brow, “What have we made?”

“You and I,” Edward answered readily, “The love that we hold.”

The young Duke turned away, “I’ve told to you that it is unnatural. All fun must run its course, but we are at the end of this river...I believe.”

Edward showed a terribly sad face, “Why?!”

“Because you are you!” Henry turned with force, “And I am me! Whatever joy we hold is lessened by all that surrounds us! You hold your father...and I do not! And...you hold your cousin! Do not ask me to forgive, Ned! For I cannot!”

The young Earl stepped closer and held a hand to his friend’s face, “Harry...we two have been through much together already. Fine times! You enjoy me and I you. Cannot you let this be?”

“We’ve had this discussion already,” Henry stood away.

Edward allowed a sorrowed eye, “You would let all of that... end all of this?”

The young Duke turned, “I do not wish to be away from you...sir. Yet I hold my family...I hold my cause. I must not forsake it because it is my duty!”

“And so your duty is not to me?” Edward asked as he stepped back, “Is that what you are telling to me? All of these good times and great cheer...our time together...it is at an end because you wish no thing more than vengeance?”

“I wish justice!!” Henry spun on him, “That which has caused me harm should also be harmed! Is that not how it is done?!”

“How would I know?” Edward held back with a curious eye, “I am all but six and ten, sir. You are the man...twenty and more. A fine guide...a scholar...made to teach me. And yet...you would leave me wanting.”

Henry showed a fierce eye, “I am not one of your paramours!”

“No!” Edward was quick to reply, “You are so much more than that. A true friend...a confidant. Dare I say?”

Henry held up a hand, “No, you should not!”

“Then too late, my friend...” Edward replied, “For you are...my love.”

“You are so young, Ned!” Henry answered, “You do not know! We both will be matched and that will be that. What we do...what we have...that must end. Our place suggests as much! It is all not fun and games, sir. My lot is certainly not. I doubt very much that yours is either.”

Edward stepped to him and placed a hand to his cheek, “I am indeed young. So mayhap...I am naive. Yet I do not hold to my father’s trust. I do not hold to his wish...”

“Which is?!” Henry asked.

“It matters not!” Edward answered, “I hold my own wish. I am to be a Lord of this realm and I would like to hold beside me my greatest friend and mayhap show a promising future. That is what the King desires...and so do I.”

Henry sighed, “You are naive, Ned.”

“That may be so,” Edward replied as he bent to kiss his friend’s cheek, “Yet I care not for all of this. I only care for you, Harry. All of this trouble...and it comes between us.”

“As it will always do!” Somerset answered.

Edward smiled as he kissed him again, “I have to go, Harry. My father has called me home. This may well be the last time we are together. Would you not like it to be a kind one? Something we may both remember?”

“I’ll not be charmed this time...” Henry answered as he closed his eyes and felt the kiss to his cheek.

“Will you not?” Edward grinned as he pulled Somerset closer and turned their faces to meet.

“No...” Henry replied softly as he opened his eyes to look deeply into Edward’s, “...I must not.”

Edward leaned in and kissed his friend’s lips before backing away slightly, “Do you be certain? I cannot stay to here and this may be the last time we see each other in a long while. I would not like our lasting memory together to be so poor.”

Somerset held a hand to Edward’s chest, “My memory of you could not ever be poor, Ned. I think no one to know me more...or better. I have never...felt...this way about any other.”

“Nor I for you, sir,” Edward smiled, “I cannot explain it. Since you first introduced me...I have hardly been without. Yet...with you...”

Henry leaned in closer as he followed, “...it is more.”

“Yes,” Edward agreed as he too leaned in.

“Yet we are of our time,” Somerset suggested softly.

Edward held his hands to Henry’s face, “And that time may soon be at an end, Harry. Would you not rather have at least one more chance to enjoy one another? A thing to hold, mayhap as tightly as you would anything else?”

They were so close, Henry could not help himself and kissed Edward deeply. Pulling off his friend’s surcoat, he tossed it aside and led him to the bed. As they fell back, the Duke allowed a laugh, “You’ve become good at this.”

“You taught me,” Edward grinned as he rolled over and pulled Henry to him again in an embrace.

They kissed more as their clothes were removed but then Henry stopped and pushed up from the bed with his arms, “You cannot stay the night. Not here!”

“I promise, Harry...” Edward pulled him back down, “...I am gone by the morrow to Ludlow. The rest of the world will beckon. Yet for this night...it is just we two.”

As they continued to shed their clothes and loved one another with a passion, they did not know that another was listening. From a passageway discovered not a fortnight ago meant for servants and other more discreet things, Thomas of Bath saw it all.

 

[Bullfilter]

A quick acknowledgment that I have managed to catch up again.

Madam...which way would you have it? I am too kind and you tell me to take full measures. Now we take every measure and you say to cease?

As others observed at the time Cecily is by no means a cool and completely consistent commentator here. In some ways, she is the counterpart of the Queen. Not fully in character, but certainly somewhat in function.

they did not know that another was listening

dad dah DAAAH! Thank god though they don’t live in the age of cameras, video surveillance or social media! But still, the mail is likely to be black. I’ve forgotten who Thomas of Bath works for, though.

 

[coz1]

A quick acknowledgment that I have managed to catch up again.


As others observed at the time Cecily is by no means a cool and completely consistent commentator here. In some ways, she is the counterpart of the Queen. Not fully in character, but certainly somewhat in function.

dad dah DAAAH! Thank god though they don’t live in the age of cameras, video surveillance or social media! But still, the mail is likely to be black. I’ve forgotten who Thomas of Bath works for, though.

Excellent to hear and thank you as always! Sometimes I think Cecily just wants to lecture her husband. It may be a stereotype, but for her it is true.

And Thomas of Bath was hired by Sir Fulk who works for Warwick. See scene 3 of this very chapter.

 

[Midnite Duke]

With Edward 16 and Somerset 20s, it is a wonder that matches have not been found. Warwick is not going to be an ultimate power with the Yorks. Richard is too strong, the boys will want to go their own ways, too close kin to marry a daughter, too powerful for anyone to fully trust. Thank you for the interlude before a battle between an aging matriarch and the French tart.

 

[El Pip]

We are nearing the two year mark on working on this story (which I know is chump change compared to @El Pip and his "slower than real time" practice)

And yet I am still making faster progress than York who has spent all this time failing to "Get on with it" to the point that absolutely everyone (bar perhaps Sailsbury) has had enough of it.

As for the King, well I had more sympathy for him when he was ill because at least then he couldn't act. If it is now that he chooses not to then frankly surely he should just abdicate and run off to a monastery, he'd have an excuse for a life of prayer and everyone else would be happy. York could be regent, the illegitimate spawn could suffer a tragic otter related accident while under the care of Warwick and the Queen be tried for treason along with her lovers/yesmen. Alas this is not to be.

As Edward and Somerset, of all the people who could find out Warwick's men are probably the worst because Warwick has the brains and cunning to exploit it the most. The Queen would be too impatient and in any case not really believed due to rumours about her own sexual offences, while York would be upset but probably not actually do anything as he appears to be attempting to rival the King in terms of doing bugger all for extended periods.

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

Peeping thom the pervert spy.

Of all the people you do not want to have hold over you, it's Warwick about to fight a civil war.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

With Edward 16 and Somerset 20s, it is a wonder that matches have not been found. Warwick is not going to be an ultimate power with the Yorks. Richard is too strong, the boys will want to go their own ways, too close kin to marry a daughter, too powerful for anyone to fully trust. Thank you for the interlude before a battle between an aging matriarch and the French tart.

It is part the reason that I decided to go this route with the two of them. It doesn't prove anything, of course, but it is somewhat odd that in that day and age, these two did not find early matches. In fact, Henry Beaufort never married and as we know, Edward married somewhat late IRL (and it being rather controversial.)

And yet I am still making faster progress than York who has spent all this time failing to "Get on with it" to the point that absolutely everyone (bar perhaps Sailsbury) has had enough of it.

As for the King, well I had more sympathy for him when he was ill because at least then he couldn't act. If it is now that he chooses not to then frankly surely he should just abdicate and run off to a monastery, he'd have an excuse for a life of prayer and everyone else would be happy. York could be regent, the illegitimate spawn could suffer a tragic otter related accident while under the care of Warwick and the Queen be tried for treason along with her lovers/yesmen. Alas this is not to be.

As Edward and Somerset, of all the people who could find out Warwick's men are probably the worst because Warwick has the brains and cunning to exploit it the most. The Queen would be too impatient and in any case not really believed due to rumours about her own sexual offences, while York would be upset but probably not actually do anything as he appears to be attempting to rival the King in terms of doing bugger all for extended periods.

Indeed, Warwick has clearly decided to force the issue because neither York nor King Henry seem to wish to do it themself. And the Earl likes his ammunition. Of course, he placed Thomas of Bath here to find out about the Queen, but he can use this info too.

Peeping thom the pervert spy.

Of all the people you do not want to have hold over you, it's Warwick about to fight a civil war.

Quite. And this could come back to haunt one or both of them.


To all - So what was hinted at before is now out in the open, at least to you readers and likely to Warwick. Again, it is not meant to be salacious but rather color the characters even more than they already are. I hope it works. And the next scene will arrive on Sunday is kind of a part 2 of the above scene. It will finish off chapter 12 and then we are on to some big stuff. For those in the know, try not to ruin it for those that are not.

Thanks always for reading and giving comment. This last chapter has been one of the most fun to write in the entire work thus far. I'm so glad to have you along for the ride.

 

[HistoryDude]

Yep, they definitely like each other - and it is definitely forbidden. I wonder what York will do with this information? Blackmail Somerset?

Love is the death of duty, to quote ASOIAF (which actually was somewhat based on this time period - I think the consensus was that Targs = Plantanagets, Starks = York (who is also Stannis), and Lannisters = Lancasters. There's a theory that Tyrells = Tudors too). Still, this scene changes a lot of things.

And the king is still useless. Sheesh, the Holy Roman Emperors had more power than him - in the early 1800s! And sloths have more initiative!

 

[Kurt_Steiner]

Edward needs a kick in the balls to make his brain begin to work and Somerset an axe in his head to calm his angered grey matter.

 

[coz1]

Yep, they definitely like each other - and it is definitely forbidden. I wonder what York will do with this information? Blackmail Somerset?

Love is the death of duty, to quote ASOIAF (which actually was somewhat based on this time period - I think the consensus was that Targs = Plantanagets, Starks = York (who is also Stannis), and Lannisters = Lancasters. There's a theory that Tyrells = Tudors too). Still, this scene changes a lot of things.

And the king is still useless. Sheesh, the Holy Roman Emperors had more power than him - in the early 1800s! And sloths have more initiative!

While I'm not one for the ASOIAF comparisons despite the work being based on this period, I would think the Targs would be the Lancastrians (ruling party having taken the throne), Starks yes the Yorkists (long respected family) and the Lannisters the Beauforts (upstarts using their power to subvert the crown.)

However, the initial quote is apt enough. When or if (let's face it...when) Henry and Edward are forced to choose one over the other, what will they do? I hope I am building them up enough that it is impactful at that moment.

Edward needs a kick in the balls to make his brain begin to work and Somerset an axe in his head to calm his angered grey matter.

Hah! Indeed I am building Edward as a character with many of the traits the historical man showed. His enjoyment of carnal pleasures was legendary so it had to be part of his actions. As to Somerset, the next scene may not make your opinion change much. Read on...

 

[coz1]

Cheshire, January 1459​

As the King and Queen sat the high table for their supper, they were served each course in their turn by the highest peers in residence at the moment. Their progress had improved Margaret’s mood and they decided to spend the Epiphany and after in Cheshire. Due to his age and infirmity that acted out in winter, the Duke of Buckingham was unable to attend. Yet he had sent both King and Queen fine gifts as an apology. As Margaret’s mood had improved, so had Henry’s. As each Lord held forth with the next dish offered on bended knee as was the custom, he chatted with them ever so kindly.

“Your Graces,” Wiltshire bent as he presented the dish of quail stuffed with sweet meats.

Henry served himself a healthy portion, “Very good. Mayhap too rich, yet we compliment the cook. You must try some, my Lord.”

“Of course,” the Earl bowed his head.

Margaret served herself as well, “Take a care, husband. You know well that your bowels take charge of you after such a meal.”

“Ever the caring wife,” the King winked to the Earl as he scooped up one more before tearing into the meat.

Wiltshire finally stood, “Your Grace appears to be in good spirits this day.”

“And why should we not?” Henry answered between bites, “It was a most glorious season. Unto us a child is born, it is said. A true King of Kings! This season...for this very reason...always brings us good cheer.”

“What of your own child, Your Grace?” Wiltshire asked, “The Prince nears to six in age. Should he not also practice in the Epiphany feasts?”

Margaret answered for the King as he continued to eat, “Good Edward is in fine hands. Dr. Morton keeps him well as both his chancellor and an excellent spiritual guide.”

“Indeed...” Henry wiped away some grease from his face with his sleeve, “...the man does fine work to Lincoln Cathedral and is now also a prebend of Salisbury, we are told. Very learned.”

“He should need to be,” Margaret picked slightly at her food, “For the man will be responsible for much if the Prince is to succeed you.”

The King allowed a curious look to his wife, “If...my Lady?”

“Tis no matter,” she waved a hand, “Here comes Baron Clifford.”

Henry took a rather dim view of this younger Lord Clifford, but when he spied the roasted suckling pig on a bed of spiced apples and peas, his eyes lit up, “There it is! Our fast is truly over.”

“You do us a justice, Lord Clifford,” Margaret smiled to him as he bent to let the King serve himself, “It is too poor that the Earl of Northumberland did not accompany you.”

Clifford bowed his head, “The Lord is made to beg apology, Your Grace. Another northern concern calls him to remain to there, yet he does promise to be by your side as earliest as he may.”

“I may imagine that concern,” Margaret huffed as she served herself.

“Now Lord Clifford...” the King admonished him with a smile, “...let us not mar the occasion. We are all together as one here and rejoice at the coming of the Lord. Consider God’s Grace for he is the one to judge and not we, his lowly servants.”

Clifford was not a man to hold his silence even at his young age, “As I serve you, Your Grace, it cannot go unnoticed by you that your Lords of Salisbury nor Warwick are in residence to court. The one makes trouble for mine, and the other...yours.”

“That will be all, our Lord of Clifford,” Henry shot him a stern eye, “This is a fine dish and we hope to enjoy it.”

He backed away when Margaret gave him the signal and another approached.

“Ahh...Exeter,” Henry’s smile was renewed, “How does your charming Lady wife?”

The Duke of Exeter bowed his head as he served, “Very good, Your Grace.”

“Why is she not to here with us?” the King questioned.

“A brief ague, Your Grace,” Henry Holland answered, “I am certain it will soon pass, but she did not feel well enough for progress.”

The King showed a sad eye, “That is too poor. We should have liked to have seen her.”

“Yes...” Margaret sighed, “...and mayhap dance again.”

The Duke grinned, “His Grace the King is an excellent dancer, Your Grace.”

“And she a pretty partner,” Henry gave nod as he eyed the silver plate, “Now...what is this? Oooh...oysters!”

Margaret scolded him, “Again, my Lord...take a care. With the way that you are filling yourself, you are like to burst.”

“Imported from Brittany, Your Grace,” Exeter explained, “They held a fine harvest this season and even with all of this piracy, they were well prepared for you.”

The King smiled and then turned to his wife, “We have fasted for twelve days, my Lady. Slight bread and water alone is not a meal.”

“What will your priest think of that?” she mused to herself as he gestured for more.

Margaret declined even one and waved the Duke away for another to take his place. The Duke of Somerset was last as befitted his rank and closeness to the royal family. He did not carry a silver platter but rather led a procession of servants that bore a giant swan that appeared as if it had just walked from the lake. So pretty was it that Henry clapped, “Marvelous!”

“For you, Your Grace,” Henry Beaufort knelt before the King.

“You have outdone yourself!” Henry exclaimed to the hall as he beckoned it closer and inspected the bird.

Somerset lifted his head with a smile, “It comes from my estate to Lancashire, Your Grace. The prettiest of them all...and only for you.”

“You...you have done well, sir!” Henry boasted, “A better presentation, we have not seen.”

“I even brought my own cooks,” Somerset grinned.

Henry stood and clapped again, “Then a coin for each of them!”

“I thank you, Your Grace,” the young Duke allowed as he bowed his head once more.

“Yet...” Henry felt to his belly, “...oof! Mayhap our Lady wife correct. We do...begin to feel some vapors.”

Margaret sighed again, “I told you.”

“No, no...” he waved a hand, “...do go on. Yet we should require the privy. Feast...feast...all of you. Enjoy what the Lord has made.”

As the King stumbled off rather quickly, Margaret looked to the young Duke, “You have indeed done well.”

“I fear to have caused the King an ill, Your Grace,” Somerset looked worried.

The Queen stepped from the high table and rounded to him, “Nay, sir. That would be the oysters. On top of all else that he has placed down his gullet this day. I think him to be to prayer for a good long time. Serves him right.”

Somerset looked after the King, “Should you not go to him? Help ease his pain?”

“There is naught I may do,” she grinned, “Lest you think I should wipe for him. And I think that with my delicate hands and constitution, that may not be enough.”

“I suppose you are right,” Henry Beaufort still looked on with worry.

Margaret held a gentle hand to his arm, “Yet mayhap it is for good cause. Though you have often been at court these years, my Lord, I fear that we two have not been allowed to know each other more. You know that I was quite close to your good father, God lift his soul, and so I am sure sorrowful that we are not at the now.”

“I admit...” Somerset allowed, “...I have felt much the same.”

“Your time is much taken with the young Earl of March,” she held to his arm as they walked around the hall among the other mingling Lords and Ladies, “Perhaps that is why you have been so absent from my presence?”

The Duke stumbled in his words, “I did not mean a slight against you, my Lady...Your Grace.”

“Think no thing of it, sir,” Margaret smiled to him, “Young men should have friends and close ones. Yet the Earl has returned to the bosom of his family and leaves you with time to your hands.”

Somerset gave nod, “I relish any chance to serve His Grace the King.”

“Of course you do,” she readily replied and then asked a question, “Yet...pray tell why did the young Lord leave off so quickly? He had been much to court himself.”

“It is his cousin, Your Grace,” Somerset answered, “Much has been said and I believe him to no longer feel safe.”

Margaret smiled again, “Ahh...l’affair Warwick. A more dubious and wicked soul you could not find. Yet let us not speak of that here. There are too many that may report back to the King my husband and he wishes not a hearing.”

“To be certain,” the young Duke agreed.

Margaret then leaned in closer, “Yet I would enjoy speaking with you on the matter. After all, it is I that champion your cause as Captain of Calais. Mayhap you would come to me in the later? After all of this has wound down?”

“I do appreciate your concern over me, You Grace,” Somerset bowed his head, “I would speak with you at any time.”

“Good,” she said, “Now look ye there to my man Pierre de Brézé. He will escort you to my chambers when the hour is right. I shall look forward to our time together.”

When Margaret left his side, the young Duke gave nod to the chevalier servant and then went to his own chair. From over his shoulder, he heard a voice, “The Lady is very pretty, isn’t she?”

“I beg your pardon?” Henry turned to face Sir William Herbert.

Black William grinned, “There be no man alive that could resist her wiles. Not a full blooded one, at any rate.”

“You speak of the Queen, sir,” Henry turned back to his trencher.

“Aye, I do,” Herbert agreed, “And I am to understand that she enjoys it. I know that I flatter her whenever possible.”

Somerset poked at his food trying to ignore the man, “You would need to if you enjoy your head.”

“She might enjoy yours, if you are not careful,” William answered as he took the chair next to the Duke.

Henry looked to him with dismay, “I think you out of line, sir. Though that does not surprise me. A man of your ill repute...”

“Take me not wrong, my Lord,” Black William held up his hands, “I meant no disrespect. I am told that she enjoys a good head, and yours is a right pretty one. Mayhap just the thing, in fact.”

“I am uncertain if you give compliment or a warning, sir,” Henry turned back to his trencher, “Yet either way, I care not for it.”

Black William stood and bowed his head, “You may take as it suits you, my Lord. I only speak of what I hear.”

“Then mayhap your ears should be boxed!” Somerset did not turn to him, “For they appear lacking and may need an adjustment!”

Herbert bowed again before walking away and then Henry was approached by Lord Clifford, “The man’s moniker is appropriate.”

They were very near the same age and the young Duke was pleased to gain a confident, “I know not why he remains to court. His legend is as black as his name.”

“It is not the Queen, I assure you,” Clifford suggested as he sat, “It is His Grace. In his piety, I believe the King to desire a purity of his own soul as much as that of his brother, the late Earl of Richmond.”

“Forgiveness?” Somerset asked with uncertainty, “Is that it?”

“As Christ the Savior teaches, he says,” Clifford gave nod, “I know that I do not have that strength to my heart, sir.”

The Duke looked to him with truth, “Nor should you. It is beyond wretched to lose one’s father and we both know about that, do we not?”

“Quite,” Clifford agreed, “And I am not made to rest until I find satisfaction.”

“Nor I, my Lord,” Henry answered with strength, “Too much happens in an attempt to forget. Yet I never will.”

The young Baron stood with a hand to the Duke’s shoulder, “Then we are well met, my Lord. Do enjoy your victuals. We should speak more in future.”

“Of course we shall,” Somerset gave nod of his head and then ate a bite. However it was not long before Pierre de Brézé stepped to him with a bow, “My Lord...Her Grace the Queen desires you presence.”

He looked up with puzzlement, “That is rather soon.”

“My Lady does not wait, my Lord,” the chevalier servant answered.

The Duke of Somerset wiped his mouth with his sleeve and then stood, “Very well. Lead on, good sir.”

Soon he was swept along the halls of the castle to the chambers of the Queen. With a knock, Pierre de Brézé opened the door and gestured, “You will find her within, my Lord.”

A blazing fire lit the room as he entered and he quickly spied Queen Margaret standing before it in a translucent gown. The door behind him slammed shut and he heard the lock turned. Once more facing the Queen, he gave bow, “Your Grace.”

“Let us not be so formal, sir,” Margaret answered to him as she stepped forward, “My husband does enjoy the we’s and our’s. I am but a simple woman. Your father knew this.”

The young Duke stood tall, “You were a friend to him, my Lady. I remember well. When he was imprisoned to the Tower...I recall when you visited him.”

“And I recall you, sir,” she smiled, “So young then...but already handsome.”

Somerset blushed, “It was not so long ago. Five years.”

“My Lord...” Margaret stepped even closer and grinned, “...we two are both still young. Or should be. You were eight and ten, if I recall. Myself not yet twenty and four. And the travails that we have seen since then...life does cause one to grow quickly.”

“They do,” the young Duke replied, “I could not argue with that.”

Margaret shifted closer and held to his hand, “And I am surrounded by those so much older than I. Though I near to thirty...I still feel as though I remain that young girl.”

“Your beauty shows no age, Your Grace,” Henry bowed his head in compliment.

“You are sweet,” she dragged a dainty hand across his cheek, “Yet again, let us not be so formal. Shall we sit by the fire and speak of things?”

As Margaret led him to a settle by the hearth, she sat and bade him do likewise. The Duke did as requested but looked to her with curiosity, “Do you think it wise, my Lady? The two of us...alone?”

“Should I fear for my reputation?” she asked with a giggle, “Are you here to ravage me?”

“I did not mean...” he started to say with worry but Margaret held a hand to his lips.

“Worry not about voices, sir. My people are discreet. As am I. One does not find this position without learning such things. And I must hold my confessional. There are too many little ears that would spread foul rumors if allowed. A thing...mayhap...you should learn as well.”

Somerset sat taller, “I know not what you mean.”

“Come now, sir...” the Queen leaned into him, “...you are still young. And young dalliances are a thing of gossip. I have seen you with the pretty young things to court. Most men rather revel in the conquests of others. It is their charge for they cannot get it for themselves. Living vicariously through the achievement of others. It would be laughable were it not so commonplace.”

“I do not gossip,” the Duke answered.

Margaret swept a dainty finger to his chin, “Of course you do not. You are a smarter breed...like your father.”

“I merely meant that we...” he attempted to answer but she stopped him again.

“I know what you meant, sir,” Margaret spoke more forcefully, “It is sorted. I ask you here for many reasons. Yet most of all...I must know your feelings towards York.”

“The Duke of York, my Lady?” Somerset questioned.

Margaret gave a brief sigh, “The House of York, sir. And all that it entails. Need I give you a brief lesson?”

“I know my history,” Somerset replied, “Yet what is it that you ask of me?”

“At the first...” Margaret inched closer on the settle and held his hand again, “...tell me more of this young Earl. What are his likes and dislikes? More importantly, what are his wants?”

The young Duke of Somerset was uncomfortable with the question but answered as he could, “Ned...the Earl of March is a supreme talent. Of grace and good humor...a fine companion. I must say...that were it not for him, my last years would have been far more harsh. My mother...as you would know...has not...”

“She did not take well to her circumstance.”

“No...” the Duke replied, “...she did not. None of us have. And yet Ned...Edward...has provided a soothing effect upon me.”

Margaret held more tightly to his hand with a smile, “And yet what of the father?”

“The Duke of York has been...” Henry tried to answer as he considered it, “...well...I do not see him often. I have been to Ludlow and he provides the perfect host...on most occasions when he is there. The Duchess less so. Yet he shows to me no ill will, nor I to him. I know not. He is...merely Ned’s father.”

“Hm!” Margaret snorted as she lifted from the settle to stand before the fire allowing the shadows of her gown to show, “Mayhap you do require a lesson in history. A most pernicious sort, he is. Like a hunter, he lays to the wood out of sight. Until his moment...and then he strikes!”

Somerset stood as well with apology, “If I may beg pardon, my Lady...I believe him to think much the same as you. About you.”

“When I am Queen and he is not King?!” Margaret spun on him, “I protect my husband. I protect my son!”

“No one could deny it,” Somerset answered quickly, “Yet...the Lord of York is not the one that provokes. Is that not true?”

The Queen softened and shifted to his side, “I should know your true enmity. I am sorry. It is and forever more be Warwick.”

“And again...I thank you,” Somerset offered, “It was my father’s post and I would wish to hold it for myself. Yet...you are right. It is he that offends me. In his living and very nature. I’ve had right good arguments about him with Ned...and yet that is the thing. A thing I could never forgive nor forget.”

“Nor should you!” Margaret held to him closely, “A man that would gut your father. Take his life when he was most devastated already. No chance to stand trial...of which he would most certainly have been acquitted! And now this!”

Somerset held strongly as well, “I must say to you, my Lady...were I King? His head would be gone from his body and held forth for all to see!”

“That is good,” Margaret patted his arm and then moved to pour them both some wine, “And mayhap some history is to be taught.”

“What history?” Henry asked as he looked to her and admired her figure.

Margaret poured and then returned, “Your Beaufort clan, sir. Your very own claim.”

“What claim?” he asked.

“A claim to preeminence, Henry,” the Queen answered, “Your father knew it. He was of the blood royal. Indeed York...he holds much. Yet so do you. Outside of York, you are the most senior member of that line tracing all the way to John of Gaunt.”

The young Duke stepped back, “Which is not the Duke of York’s claim. His is better and all know it.”

“We’re not talking about York’s claim,” Margaret shifted to him again, “We are speaking of Warwick and whatever thing he seems to hold.”

Somerset remained uneasy, “He holds to his wealth.”

“Precisely so,” the Queen replied, “High and mighty and believes that he is better than all else. Mayhap even the Lord of York. Claim or no...and his is spurious compared to your own...he wishes to stake some claim and cares not who he may hurt and harm.”

“My Lady...” the young Duke backed away, “...my Queen...I am unsure what you say to me. He is an evil man and I would wish him dead. That is the all of it.”

Margaret flashed a smile as she moved closer again, “Do not be so short sighted, my Lord. I have been to this court for more than a decade. I have seen how men will play. There are more than a few with a line that traces back. It is all about place. My Henry is King. He will forever more be so, as long as I have my wits. And more importantly my son after him, God willing! Yet who is it that will champion that cause?”

“I must beg your pardon, madam...Your Grace...” Somerset rounded the settle to keep them apart, “...yet you speak of claims and other...sorts. You would know that my line is of bastards and I could not speak of York...nor any other of that line. Buckingham holds his own. So does Norfolk. Even Exeter! My God! Even my cousin that married the Tudor...has a child now and believes some sort of one or another. You may not swing a cat by his tail within this kingdom without finding claim!”

Margaret softened and rounded the settle as well, “You are out of sorts, sir. And for good reason. You may rest assured that I wish no other to this throne. Yet what I do wish is...a champion. I am but a woman...and young still. I’ll not find it in Buckingham. Not Norfolk. Exeter is a fool! No, my Lord...if I may call you Harry? There are princes of the blood...and you are my only hope.”

“Is that why you wished to see me?” Somerset replied quickly.

The Queen stood as tall as she might, “I wished to see you for what I have just said. There are pretenders...and then there is Warwick. I speak of claim because he wishes to champion one or another. He holds his own with York at the now. And I’ll not deny that the Duke of York holds a fine claim. Yet he is not King, nor never should be. I see them all line up...wishing for bread and more from their masters. So many would see what could be in the after. I hold a son. And I fear that he may never be King if these scoundrels should prevail. That is my goal...my wish. My only purpose at the now.”

“You are fearful,” the young Duke replied with tenderness.

“I am,” the Queen held closely to his hands, “All that my husband, the King, does...and all that these others do without. Your father was my champion, sir. The finest in the land. Since his time...I have been wanting. Wiltshire is a fool...and a coward at that. Buckingham will play for peace...always. The northern Lords...they do their own for their family. And against another. The worst part of that is what we see. It is Warwick’s fortune. It is his Despenser lands, much of which he stole from your father...his Warwick title. That which he has stolen from others...including the life of your very own father! He perjures my name! Every thing he does is for mine own misfortune! Against yours! Against this very King!”

Somerset held her closely, “You need not tell me how awful the man is.”

“Then do for me...Harry,” Margaret began to sob.

“Few call me that,” he answered as he pulled away slightly.

Margaret showed tender eyes as she looked up to him, “Then mayhap more should. A kind face and kind words...that is what I need. What your father provided. The very best of men!”

“He was,” Henry replied with sadness.

“Then can you not be also?” she questioned as she pulled his face closer, “A fine friend?”

The young Duke stiffened, “I would...be your champion, my Lady.”

“Is that all?” Margaret questioned as she stood taller and kissed to his cheek.

“I would do all that I might to thwart Warwick,” Henry answered as he smelled her hair.

Margaret held him closely, “You would do that...for me?”

“I think...” Henry looked her in the eye, “...I think I would do anything for you...my Lady.”

“You are tall...” she responded as their lips grew closer, “...and handsome. Still pretty as a young man should. Such beautiful cheeks...and strong.”

Somerset was unsure, “My Lady...madam...”

“Shh,” Margaret cooed, “Do not think too much.”

“Yet...you are...” he started to suggest.

Margaret held her hand to his groin and rubbed, “But a woman...a girl...my Lord. I think you to need a loving spirit.”

“I...am...” he started to say.

She started to untie his pants, “In need, I believe. And so am I.”

“This is...” he again remonstrated.

As she lowered her body, she looked up to him with a grin, “You would know good fortune when you find it, sir.”

“My L...Your...” he tried to speak as she rounded his member with her mouth and then forgot it all. He closed his eyes and allowed the night to take its course.

After some hours, and still to the bed, Margaret rolled over to him, “Do not feel ashamed.”

“I...do not,” Henry answered as he held to her.

Margaret showed him a loving eye, “Then you will do what I ask?”

“I would do before what you ask,” Somerset replied as he looked to her in his afterglow, “Yet now...how could I say no?”

“Think not too lightly, sir,” she answered to him with a precious face, “I do not do this for my gain but for my pleasure. And I hope yours as well.”

“It was...wonderful,” Somerset smiled.

Margaret inched up in the bed and held to his face, “Yet make no mistake, my Lord. Warwick shall be a dead man. Can we agree?”

A stray hair bent over her face and Henry tucked it behind her ear with a smile, “I think we both to hold...the same end.”

She grinned, “Quite. And what a lovely end.”

End of Chapter 12​

 

[Midnite Duke]

Fancy is as Fancy does. But less as not forget, that Fancy was but fifteen when she came to a foreign to wed a cold man that she had never met. Also, many reviled her before her arrival for a peace treaty that she did not negotiate.

 

[Kurt_Steiner]

I wonder what is going to loose Somerset to take Warwick as a prey.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Fancy is as Fancy does. But less as not forget, that Fancy was but fifteen when she came to a foreign to wed a cold man that she had never met. Also, many reviled her before her arrival for a peace treaty that she did not negotiate.

That is a generous interpretation of events though not entirely untrue at all. That said, she would not be the first nor the last to find themselves in similar circumstances and many of those others were not nearly as reviled as Margaret for reasons that should be obvious.

I wonder what is going to loose Somerset to take Warwick as a prey.

Let's just say that it will not be easy. While Warwick wasn't and isn't quite a military genius (in much of my reading, he is described as indecisive in battle which seems odd but perhaps accurate.) As for Somerset, he had better hope that he is more effective than either his father or his uncle.

Side note - while many guessed this was coming, it is still interesting to me to see Margaret now taking the son in as lover as she did with the father. Also sort of interesting to me when I consider it that Somerset does not realize or believe that the Prince is actually his half-brother. Oh, Margaret.


To all - Just a note to say that I am knee deep in the writing of chapter 15 right now with the debut of chapter 13 coming to you good readers likely Wednesday. And as I am getting closer to the end of the last play period, I actually got in about 5 years of gameplay yesterday and some very interesting things happen. I cannot say more, but you will enjoy it (I hope.) We are also getting very close to where things really start to diverge from RL so those looking for the actual "alt" in this alternate history will be pleased I suspect.

As for chapter 12, I hope it achieved what I desired which was to really focus in on Warwick as a character either through his own sections or how others perceive him. Hopefully I have sketched him out a bit more with the added benefit of getting in depth with both Edward and Somerset. They will all become important figures in the work so it was time to branch out from our mainstays York, Margaret and Henry and other peripheral characters. On that score, I can without spoling anything say that Salisbury gets a bit of a focus in the upcoming chapter. Not quite as I have done with the son above, but the elder Neville factors in a bit more than he has prior.

As always, thank you all for reading and giving comment. I always say it because it is true - I could not write this without you!

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

I suspect it will be revealed soon enough. Possibly even by the Queen herself. All it would take would be some heated words.

 

[HistoryDude]

Well, that was interesting. Schemes occur within court.

I wonder if Somerset will screw Margaret over with a guilty conscience. Was that supposed to read like something of a rape? I'm not entirely sure how willing Somerset was in that scene.

 

[El Pip]

So Margaret does indeed intend to screw her way through the family, at this rate they will end up having to bury her in a Y-shape coffin. Assuming of course enough bits of her can be found.

Black William continues to be just be a delight, I wonder if Somerset will look back on that exchange and learn anything. If he does then perhaps he may have potential to be a player in the game, being Margaret's "Champion" can easily be leveraged into a great deal of power and influence over Margaret and thus the Kingdom. However thus far he's lacked any real brains or subtlety so I'm not expecting much.

On which note, the news that Henry is now incapable of even eating a dinner means would be a damning indictment on almost anyone else. Alas he has already fallen so low it is merely par for the course.