Well, I hope the heads decorating the gates of York is evidence enough, but...who knows? Warwick did not expect this. No one did.
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Mortimer’s Cross, February 1461
He sat to his tent in full armor. It had not been easy to be dressed because he was full of nervous tension. Yet Edward of York named Earl of March finally sent everyone away and sat alone to considered it. If his father was truly dead...he was now the fourth Duke of York. The second named Edward. More to that...he was now heir to the King. Rightful ruler of England.
“My Lord?” Sir William Herbert stepped into the tent with his helm tucked under his arm, “The men are at the ready. The Tudors approach and we must decide. Either turn back towards London as your cousin requests or face them.”
Edward slowly inhaled and then released it before answering, “Jasper Tudor must not be allowed to link with the Queen’s army. We face them now, sir.”
He stood briskly and stepped from the tent and Sir William followed, “Archers will be sent to the crossroads to cut off their march. I understand that old man Tudor fights with his son and takes his vanguard.”
“You would know him well, sir,” Edward gave nod, “I give you leave to attend to him. Have Lord Audley and his hold the right. My man Hastings suggests the Lord of Wiltshire commands. He must have traveled quickly to get out of Wakefield. Either way, he is a rote coward.”
“Sir?” Herbert held a heavy hand to the young Earl’s shoulder, “Are you truly ready?”
Before he could answer, there was a murmuring between the gathered soldiers and Edward turned and watched them point to the sky. Above them in the hazy early morning, it appeared that three suns shown overhead instead of one. Many of the soldiers seemed frightened by this sudden change yet the Earl found a slight smile. He turned to his men and called out, “Be of good comfort and dread not! This is a good sign for those three suns offer the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost and therefore let us have a good heart and in the name of Almighty God go we against our enemies!!”
His entire army sank to their knees in prayer and Edward joined them. When he was done, Sir William Herbert leaned in, “I believe that I hold your answer, my Lord.”
“That sun in splendor is not only the Trinity yet also promises to me that the three remaining sons of York will once more be reunited,” Edward replied as he stormed off to find his mount, “And this I will do once I defeat these bloody bastards!”
Yorkist archers guarded both the crossroads and the bridges of the River Lugg to Edward’s back. The Earl of Pembroke had no way to avoid meeting in battle. They were slightly smaller than Edward’s army made up of men from Herefordshire, Gloucester and more while Tudor’s were raw Welsh recruits. Somewhat reinforced when the Earl of Wiltshire arrived to tell them of the Queen’s command, no one had any confidence in James Butler. Yet he surprised all when he was the first to launch an attack. More to that, Wiltshire somehow seemed able to crush the Earl of March’s right wing. Jasper Tudor watched it and gave nod, “Forward to the center!! With me!!!”
His soldiers copied the onslaught attempted by Wiltshire, yet these men were led by Edward himself and if a more perfect knight existed on the field of battle no one could speak their name. Fighting almost like Crusaders, these Yorkist soldiers fiercely defended their leader and he was in front of them all. The first to every part of the melee, he clashed with Jasper Tudor himself briefly.
Tudor and Edward traded blows on horseback yet the crush of men cut them off and Jasper turned to see Wiltshire reenter the melee. He was pushing forward from the right and the Earl of Pembroke could see the bridge beyond. It was more important to open the point of crossing than destroying the Earl of March so he gathered many to him and pressed forward.
Yet Edward was not done. With the fresh memory of his father and brother to mind, the Earl of March fought like a wild man. “A York!! “A York!!” he called out over and over and each time it gathered more to his side. Within moments, he was able to pierce between the Tudor forces and separate them taking his heavy blows towards Wiltshire. Butler, as usual, retreated though he did guide his men to ford the river attempting to destroy the rest of Edward’s right.
The Earl of Pembroke had no other choice but to call his men back and regroup. They seemed evenly matched, yet Jasper Tudor could tell the light in the Yorkist soldier’s eyes was lit by the sight of Edward of York himself. He counseled briefly with his father before deciding what to do.
“The boy is nearly rabid,” Owen Tudor looked out, “Grief is a powerful thing.”
Jasper Tudor could only agree, “Yet we cannot sue for peace. It will be harsh and we’ll not be spared.”
“I’ll take his left,” Owen suggested to his son, “I’ll drive a wedge in them as they did to you. Make for Kingsland and mayhap a better crossing. Some will follow and the rest are yours.”
Jasper frowned, “You only want it because you believe Herbert and Devereaux are out there. I’d kill him myself, father. Yet we cannot let this be personal.”
“It’s always been personal, son,” Owen Tudor answered him, “You fight for one brother while the one that killed your other and my son is over there.”
The elder Tudor was over sixty years old and took orders from no one. He quickly gathered his men and did just as he had said. They slashed through and cut into Edward’s left fiercely as Jasper Tudor showed one more charge. Yet the Yorkist archers were by now shooting the Lancastrian cavalry with deadly accuracy. As the center began to falter on Jasper, more went towards his father and eventually the entire front collapsed.
Wiltshire’s men were all over and it was clear that the day was lost. There was no way to reach his father. His only hope was to ride back into Wales and find hiding in one of his castles. As he fled the field, Edward’s army pressed the rest of the Welshmen to the south into the normally peaceful marshes and meadows around the small village. They were soon littered with the dead and the dying.
Edward of York had not once considered how long the day had been. Either due to enjoyment or a murderous rage, the young Earl had fought bravely and without fail. Trotting slowly back to his tent as his soldiers continued to massacre many and capture many more around him, Edward allowed only a hint of a smile. He finally jumped from his mount with a thud to the cold earth beneath him and removed his helm from his sweaty head.
As he surveyed the field, Sir William Hastings approached, “My Lord...it is spectacular.”
“It was willed by God!” Edward announced to his soldiers.
Hastings gave nod, “There is more, my Lord. Herbert sends word that he has captured the father, Owen Tudor.”
“Tell him now!” Edward turned quickly with a fierce eye, “He is mine!”
“I have done so already, sir,” Hastings bowed, “He will be taken to Hereford to await your pleasure.”
Edward smiled and found his mount once more, “He shall not have to wait long!”
Within moments, the young Earl spurred his horse and made off with many of his closest members quickly riding behind him. He was able to catch up to Herbert’s force just outside of Hereford and quickly rode up beside the elder Tudor, “Good welcome, sir!”
“It looks not well to me,” Owen Tudor sat atop a mount with his hands tied behind his back.
Edward smiled, “We shall find you great comfort to the town, sir. Everlasting comfort.”
The Earl rode off ahead of them and the elder Tudor was eventually taken to a cell. There he would sit in darkness until a guard came for him and let him back into the light. As his eyes adjusted, he began to see the raised platform and a man in a mask standing above him.
“What is this?” Owen Tudor called out, “Shall I not face my accuser?”
“Your fate is preordained, sir,” the voice of Edward answered him, “There be few ways that one may excise the depths of my despair after all that has happened. Yet this may assuage some of it.”
Owen Tudor was stripped to his doublet and led forth, men roughly ripping his collar as he was taken up the few steps. He still attempted to beg, “I would have pardon and grace.”
Some cheered and some jeered but another voice called out, “Will you die as well as your son?!”
The old man was able to finally see the speaker. None other than Black William. The Welsh knight stood next to the Earl of March and grinned. Tudor showed a bittersweet smile, “This head shall lie on the stock that was wont to lie in Queen Catherine’s lap.”
Edward swiftly raised his arm and the headsman placed Owen Tudor to the block. The Welshman had time enough left to say “I place my heart and mind wholly unto God” before his head was cut off. Like the Queen had done in York, the Earl of March had Tudor’s head placed above the market cross some say later to be tended to by a madwoman.
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Mm. A great victory for both sides recently. Which of course means, both sides had some bad setbacks.
Still, York army having this miraculous victory and then finding out the Duke and first son yet live would seem a continued pack of blessing and sign of divine support.
Possible Henry sees it as such too.
Still, York army having this miraculous victory and then finding out the Duke and first son yet live would seem a continued pack of blessing and sign of divine support.
Possible Henry sees it as such too.
Yes, Killing Maggie B is always a good idea.Fb-fb:
Even though she's trying to help them? Kurtie says, "Yes."
This is pretty much the last “historical” chapter I would guess, because after this point pretty much everything has to diverge massively from the simple fact that Richard and Edmund are alive. OTL, Edward was pretty much left in control with only Warwick and his younger brothers as partners, and all three would in various turns betray him (ok fine so Richard’s betrayal was posthumous but it still sort of counts). Here, even if Richard remains too weak to ever lead again, he still can command much greater influence than young Edward can dream of at this stage. Arguably even more importantly, Edmund can actually be loyal and reliable to his older brother, and with another body between them and the Yorkist claim, it makes less sense for George and Richard to plot.
We have at last arrived at a situation where the story, instead of being a struggle arguably continuing into the third generation with Richard III vs Henry VII, can at least be resolved in the short period of time EU4 wants to present it in. The Yorkist cause is too stable now. It’s ranks of commanders and lieutenants too deep to allow for the Lancastrian ripostes of our record. Once Queen Margaret is defeated, it’s curtains for their cause.
We have at last arrived at a situation where the story, instead of being a struggle arguably continuing into the third generation with Richard III vs Henry VII, can at least be resolved in the short period of time EU4 wants to present it in. The Yorkist cause is too stable now. It’s ranks of commanders and lieutenants too deep to allow for the Lancastrian ripostes of our record. Once Queen Margaret is defeated, it’s curtains for their cause.
This victory should offset the result of York falling.
On the other hand, putting Tudor's head on a pike might encourage resistance by nobles who want to save their own skin. Keeping them as POWs and then offering pardons after a victory might've been a better idea.
On the other hand, putting Tudor's head on a pike might encourage resistance by nobles who want to save their own skin. Keeping them as POWs and then offering pardons after a victory might've been a better idea.
Fb-fb:
To all - We are getting to the meat of the chapter and there remains at least one more historical battle to come (those in the know can surely guess which one.) As mentioned above, I had to include the battle of Mortimer's Cross. It is just so iconic with the image of the three suns and honestly, I am not sure that I really did it the credit I desired in the writing. So much of the Yorkist and later Tudor monarchies are defined by imagery and indeed, propaganda. And the three suns = three sons has always been a favorite bit of wordplay to me. However, it doesn't quite work since four sons remain as does Richard. But as mentioned, Edward doesn't know that yet and some might suggest that pushed him even more in this battle.
The next scene follows and sorry to those trying to catch up. I have so much material, I want to get it out there. And much like previous chapters, I think a lot of it reads better in close connection. Thank you to those reading and giving comment. And please do not forget if you have not done so already, go and vote in the ACAs still ongoing for at least another week. As always, you need not vote for this work (though surely appreciated) but there is no lack of AARs and writAARs to honor around here. Every writAAR will appreciate it!
Part the reason I included this historical battle because of the imagery of the parhelion. It is so iconic and integral to the myth and image of Edward and his rise to power. With York and Edmund still alive, it tends to lessen the meaning of it but Edward doesn't know that yet.
If I didn't know any better, I'd think my readership is full of misogynists.
It is around this time that the ranks of both sides are starting to get massively depleted. No doubt true that York and Edmund surviving tips the scales to the Yorkists, but it does prove somewhat of a difficulty. Part the reason that Edward was so successful in OTL had to do with his image. Unlike Richard, Edward was handsome and charismatic. People actually liked him in a way they never did Richard. He looked like a King and acted like it and especially after this battle, considered it his destiny. With Richard still in the picture, it does tend to muddy the waters somewhat in terms of getting the Yorkists on the throne. Let's just say I had to thread the needle quite carefully when I wrote what comes next. I hope it works.
I tend to agree. However, I don't think Edward was in a forgiving mood here. As far as he knows, his father and brother were cruelly murdered and he was out for blood. It actually comes up in a future post so look for it.
To all - We are getting to the meat of the chapter and there remains at least one more historical battle to come (those in the know can surely guess which one.) As mentioned above, I had to include the battle of Mortimer's Cross. It is just so iconic with the image of the three suns and honestly, I am not sure that I really did it the credit I desired in the writing. So much of the Yorkist and later Tudor monarchies are defined by imagery and indeed, propaganda. And the three suns = three sons has always been a favorite bit of wordplay to me. However, it doesn't quite work since four sons remain as does Richard. But as mentioned, Edward doesn't know that yet and some might suggest that pushed him even more in this battle.
The next scene follows and sorry to those trying to catch up. I have so much material, I want to get it out there. And much like previous chapters, I think a lot of it reads better in close connection. Thank you to those reading and giving comment. And please do not forget if you have not done so already, go and vote in the ACAs still ongoing for at least another week. As always, you need not vote for this work (though surely appreciated) but there is no lack of AARs and writAARs to honor around here. Every writAAR will appreciate it!
Buxton, February 1461
Edmund sat by the roaring fire and kept vigil by his father’s bed. He had refused to leave his side and even took meals there. Yet for a solid month, there seemed to be little change. The Duke still drew breathe and was kept fed by spooning broth to his mouth every so often that he would eventually swallow. Yet he did not move nor speak. The young Earl had little idea what happened in the outside world for none other existed to him at this moment. Only that Richard Duke of York wake and survive.
Curious of the time, he stood and opened a shutter to let in the crisp air. The chamber was roasting and it felt good. Yet it was dark. Evening or morning, he wondered? He sighed as he shifted to wet a cloth and cleaned his father’s head and face. The skin remained hot but the sweat was good for him it was thought. Checking his father’s wound proved well. It appeared to be healing and the bruising to his body was finally receding. His condition was a puzzle to the physician secreted in by Sir Henry Stafford. It was merely said that the Duke suffered from extreme exhaustion and only rest would do him better.
As Edmund moved back to shut the window, Allen Leighson limped into the chamber using a crutch, “I should think the fresh air good for you, sir. I’ll never be as cold as we were to the river.”
The young Earl turned with a smile, “You saved my life, Master Leighson. I can never repay you.”
“You’ve already done so, me young Lord,” Leighson returned the smile, “You then saved mine.”
“Yet what of him?” Edmund looked sadly to his father.
Leighson shrugged as he struggled to stand by the fire, “He’s a tough old nut, that one. If he ain’t died yet, I dare say there’s still hope for him.”
“I wonder what happens?” the Earl found his chair in thought, “It seems as if we have been here forever. Lady Beaufort is nice enough, if somewhat odd...and Sir Henry has been kind. I might have thought him vengeful after his father the Duke died at Northampton. Yet he seems to harbor little ill will.”
“From what I gather...” Leighson sat with a groan next to him, “...this Lord is not Duke himself...a second son. In fact...I guess he’s just a knight. More than I am, sure. But he may look for another benefactor. Before all this, your Lord father seemed a fine candidate.”
Edmund looked to the fire, “The Queen must have marched to London by now. Surely Ned has bested her...but who may know?”
“None here, my Lord...and mayhap the best place for you.”
Edmund showed sadness, “Poor Tom. And uncle Dickon. I cannot believe what you and the others have told me. I just remember running and then Clifford...then darkness. Yet blinding all the same. Freezing and...then...”
“Best not to rehash it, sir,” Leighson cautioned, “It’s happened. It’s done. You can only look ahead.”
The young Earl looked up with a smile, “I shall see you knighted for your bravery, Leighson. That much I shall remember.”
“Begging your pardon, Lord...” the man gave nod, “...yet I did naught but what I was told.”
“That’s if I could knight anyone,” Edmund stood and moved to his father, “Could any of us? Will you ever be able to, papa? I questioned you to Ireland...you and cousin Warwick. Yet now I think you hold the right of it. After what she did to mama’s brother? Poor mama. She likely thinks that you are dead.”
A hand reached up and grabbed Edmund’s arm with strength. The Duke did not open his eyes but was able to whisper, “Why...would she...think that?”
“My Lord?!” Leighson used his crutch to stand quickly and Edmund knelt by the bed.
“Papa!! You are returned! Pray God Almighty all thanks and gratitude!”
“Speak...” Richard struggled to talk, “...tell your father...what...happens.”
Edmund reached for the wet cloth and wiped at his father’s eyes, “Look upon me, papa.”
Slowly as his lids were nearly glued together, Richard found a vision and saw blurry figures before him, “Is it you...Edward?”
“It is Edmund, papa...” his son smiled and wiped at his face some more, “...your son, Edmund. I am here with Master Leighson. What do you recall?”
“I...was…” the Duke struggled to remember, “...being buried alive. As punishment...”
“He’s surely been dreamin’, my Lord,” Leighson suggested.
Edmund calmed him and finally got his father to release the grip on his arm, “In fact, you were, papa. The last I saw of you...you disappeared beneath a pile of bodies.”
Though he could not yet move, Richard’s eyes began to dart around the room, “How did I...get here? And why...does your mother...think that I...am dead?”
“You were discovered, papa,” Edmund answered, “It has been over a month since the battle. We brought you to here where you have recovered.”
“Not...yet,” Richard’s eyes grew sharp as he looked to his son.
Edmund held a gentle hand to his father’s chest, “You will. In time.”
Trying to shift in the bed, the injured Duke failed and grimaced, “What did she do?!”
“There is time enough for you to find out all, yet you should continue to rest,” Edmund suggested, “It is too much sadness and that cannot be good for you.”
Richard’s eyes grew wild, “You...will...tell...me!”
As the young Earl recounted the battle and the aftermath, the Duke listened with horror and tears began to flow from his eyes. Especially when he heard about the Earl of Salisbury and his son. His body convulsed in pain and sadness and Edmund attempted to keep him still, “Papa! You must not excite yourself!”
Even Leighson tried to help until Richard finally calmed and rested his head. He closed his eyes once more before speaking, “God Almighty...what have I done?”
“You fought bravely, papa!” Edmund replied with strength, “With right purpose! All did that surrounded you.”
“And they died!” Richard answered with despair.
Allen Leighson spoke over the Earl’s shoulder, “My Lord...you have seen battle before and know it well. None may say that you are coward nor blood thirsty. You fought with honor, sir. Only she did not respond in kind nor the man Clifford. They will suffer for their crimes and you, my Lord...I don’t know much of God...yet what I do tells me that you will surely be forgiven.”
“Did you?” Richard looked to the man, “Did you find me?”
“No, papa,” Edmund answered, “We are at the home of Sir Henry Stafford and his wife Lady Beaufort. And the man that found you has stayed on as well.”
Richard showed an uncertain eye, “Who?”
“Our very own Henry,” the young Earl smiled, “Holland, sir. The Duke of Exeter.”
The eyes slimmed and Richard allowed in a low raspy voice, “Bring...him...to me.”
Leighson did as told and limped off as Edmund held his father’s hand, “He has shown a kindness, papa. None may have guessed that he might assist and yet he has.”
The Duke did not speak in reply and instead looked straight to the ceiling of the chamber. It was only when the Duke of Exeter entered with astonishment that Richard found voice, “Why?!”
“My Lord!!” Exeter shouted in excitement, “It is wondrous! I could not believe it when told.”
Richard eyed him strongly and then suggested, “Come...closer.”
“Of course, my Lord,” Exeter shifted, “You must still be in a great deal of pain.”
When the Duke of Exeter was close enough, Richard reached out his hands and clasped them around Henry Holland’s neck to choke him as he repeated, “WHY? WHY? WHY?!”
Through constricted breathe, Exeter tried to answer as he attempted to fight the Duke’s hold, “For...your...daughter...sir...”
Edmund and Leighson both helped and finally removed Richard's hands and York rested again as he closed his eyes. Yet more tears followed. His son shifted to wipe them away and Exeter stood far as he felt at his neck.
“By God, the man certainly has strength for being lights out for a month!”
“He should not be angered,” Edmund suggested as he tended to Richard.
“Well I didn’t anger him!” Exeter was shocked, “I saved the bloody man’s life!”
Richard stopped them all when he spoke without opening his eyes, “Henry Holland...you are...hereby banished...from this realm.”
“Papa!” Edmund shook him, “You can not mean that!”
“I do,” the Duke still did not open his eyes.
The Duke of Exeter was nonplussed, “Sir...my Lord…Richard...I have done more than many to your cause though I am not diligent enough to recount the many ways that I have failed that have also assisted you. Yet I did try and help your brother in law and have since attempted to play fair and good to an honest father. All for the sake of Anne. Your daughter, my Lord. Whom I do love.”
“Indeed, papa...it is unfair,” Edmund pleaded, “Henry has only done right by us this past month and more. I too had my misgivings, yet he has...come round. And for Anne, papa...sweet Annie.”
The Duke of York finally opened his eyes and looked directly to his son in law, “I would sooner...rest to eternal damnation in hell...than ever allow you to touch my daughter again. You are...the worst sort. The very thing...I hope to destroy. If you wish my life? Then...take it now. For that I have it...I shall ever use it!”
“Papa...you are deranged from your troubles,” Edmund wet the cold cloth again and wiped at Richard’s brow, “You require rest and not all of this.”
Duke Richard allowed it and closed his eyes again. Sleep came to him quickly and the young Earl could only look to his brother in law with sympathy, “He knows not what he says. He surely did not mean it.”
“I think he did,” Exeter answered with a nod, “The old bastard would never forgive me.”
Edmund showed plea in his eyes, “He remains unwell, my Lord. He requires time.”
“I think...I think to have given him all the time that I hold,” Henry Holland looked to Leighson and then the resting Duke of York and then back to Edmund, “One way or the other, sir...I will find the means for my ends. Or my very end. One of the two!”
The young Earl stood to keep Henry from leaving but Leighson stopped him with a firm hand, “Your father lives, my Lord. Let us keep it at that.”
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Richard is back... and he immediately screwed up.
Wait to banish people until you've won the war, Richard. Sheesh.
Wait to banish people until you've won the war, Richard. Sheesh.
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Those two scenes make an interesting contrast. Edward getting his iconic 'dogstar' and showing his many kingly qualities, Richard coming back and immediately showing why he is so bad at this. The greatest threat to the Yorkist cause remains Richard, though I admit that in part reflects the low calibre of the Lancastrians at this point. There is something of the Bourbons about Richard "He has learned nothing, and he has forgotten nothing.”, hopefully this is just him struggling as he recovers and he has actually learnt something from his brush with death, but thus far it's not looking promising.
Fb-fb:
Especially since Exeter just saved him. To be fair, he may not be thinking in his right mind at the moment. Still a bit groggy.
I'm pleased you see the contrast as it was meant. As mentioned prior, I've really tried to focus more and more on the differences between Edward and Richard and indeed - York remains possibly his own worst enemy. It is possible that he has changed (or will) but it remains to be seen if that is for better or for worse.
Bedford, February 1461
“You’ve been quiet,” she said as she brushed his hair behind his ear.
Henry Beaufort stared from the bed to the wall of the chamber, “Not quiet. Just spent, my Lady.”
“You are still bruised and battered...I know,” Margaret lovingly drew her hand up and down his naked body. Pressing to one still purple spot to his hip, he winced.
“Ow! Why must you?!”
Margaret grinned and kissed his cheek, “To see if your blood still runs, sir. So few do these days.”
“You should not be so certain of things,” Somerset replied as he kept his gaze to the wall, “The Lord of March will not take his father’s death so well.”
“He is but a boy,” the Queen pressed close to Somerset’s body, “He is no man. You are a man, my Lord!”
Henry Beaufort thought, “He will...he will do as I have done.”
“It matters not to me, sir,” Margaret rolled over in the bed and yawned, “He is miles away and we are to the steps of London. And it is a beautiful morning and I think to enjoy it.”
As she rose from the bed, Henry looked to her naked body and smiled. For only a second. He then furrowed his brow with question, “What will you do with all of them...York’s people?”
“I shall do as I always do,” Margaret smiled in return as she draped a silk damask over her body, “I shall charm and win them over. Or not.”
Somerset straddled the bed to answer her, “My Lady...these are good men. Many of them. The Lord of Salisbury...he was a good and honest man.”
“He was a traitor!” she wrapped the silk closer to her and covered her breasts, “And you speak too much!”
He allowed a grin, “You are comforted here. Held safe.”
“These are not the best lodgings,” Margaret answered as she looked around.
“Yet you hold safe,” Somerset replied, “Or so you think. York may be dead but his cause is not. Warwick remains to London and March is...out there. You may think that you are Queen...my Lady. Yet only one battle will prove it.”
Margaret shifted to pour herself some wine as she answered, “You have felt the scars. I know. Yet it is all for purpose. My Lord husband is King and my son is his heir. I think that you would know by now...I will not rest.”
“I shall not rest, my Lady...” Somerset responded, “...yet we may hold a pause.”
She turned with a grin, “You were up for it last night. Are you not up for it now?”
“I am still up,” he answered plainly, “Yet these Scots create havoc everywhere we go, and Wiltshire’s Bretons...how did he even find them?! We move south, my Lady. This is not common land.”
“North...south...I do not care,” Margaret scoffed as she turned and pressed a finger to the bed, “Each and every one will bow down to my husband and my son. I shall search them out and tear from root and stem their very hearts!”
The Duke of Somerset sat back in the bed calmly, “I have no question that you will, madam. I only question the reason.”
“Do I need reason?!” Margaret stepped back with shock, “Have you not seen what they have done to me?!”
Somerset sat forward once more with a serious eye, “I see that you are alive and well in Bedford, my Lady. Hold to you your son the Prince. And we are but a cunt hair from London. Yet I say to you now...they will not accept you. Not even for the King.”
“He is their King!” Margaret shouted.
He remained calm, “And yet would not answer your call when you requested aid. Does not seem likely that they will open their gates when you demand them. You are unloved in London...Margaret of Anjou. And that is the key.”
“Then we shall march around them,” she replied with sureness, “To Kent...or Sussex...or wherever.”
The Duke of Somerset stood naked from the bed and held to her hand, “Madam...you do not know this land. We hold in our train Scots, which are afeared by the south. So too the northerners from Cumberland and all. Mercenaries and more and they despoil the land as they go.”
“They are numbers!” Margaret was certain.
He gave nod, “Indeed they are, yet they will only stay for the booty. And York is dead. How far will you take this?”
“Put your pants on!” Margaret demanded as she refreshed her wine, “It is unbecoming!”
Somerset ignored her and instead pulled her into a forceful embrace, “Edward of York will avenge his father! As I wish to do myself!”
“Then do so!” the Queen pushed him away, “I shall hear no more! Warwick’s steward gives us plenty and so we know where he goes. You will follow him or you will not find that which you seek!”
“Mine own brother...” Henry Beaufort attempted to explain, “...he has been taken. By Warwick’s own. All he did was stand by my mother who remains...terrified. My Lady...she was your maid. My father’s wife and you did love him so well. I shall protect the King, madam. Yet when do we end?!”
Margaret eyed him for a time before she answered the Duke with a hardened eye, “We end...when I say we end. As I am Queen...that should be all that is desired.”
“Salisbury, madam...his son!” Somerset stood forward, “My father! How many more?”
“Dress yourself!” she turned from him to wash her body, “You hold leagues to go.”
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A rather literal case of making one's bed, Somerset. If you don't like it, you're going to have to do something fairly drastic at this stage.
Another big catch up, RL plus your frantic posting rate! Which doesn’t worry me, so long as you don’t mind missing out on more episode-by-episode commentary. Just a few miscellaneous comments.
Separately, one suspects Edmund might now be wondering whether a strategically applied pillow over dad’s face might be the most expedient treatment after that petulant (though perhaps fevered/disoriented) outburst.
Just a few miscellaneous comments.Pikes, blocks, heads, gates, crows, etc. Excellent! The great culling of the ruling class picks up pace.
Hmm, some amorous vibes there? Another POD made possible by this recent one? Edmund + Margaret Beaufort = future interesting claims for any offspring?
Possibly, though now with the complications that have since been well discussed.
Separately, one suspects Edmund might now be wondering whether a strategically applied pillow over dad’s face might be the most expedient treatment after that petulant (though perhaps fevered/disoriented) outburst.
At least that won’t entrench and intensify the already deeply ingrained and linked vendettas. Good news for the Grim Reaper!
No, I'm only MargaretBeaufortphobic.Fb-fb:
If I didn't know any better, I'd think my readership is full of misogynists.
Margaret sees victory where none exists. Somerset might have horrible timing, but... he's still right.
Will Somerset betray the queen when he sees how far she's willing to go?
Will Somerset betray the queen when he sees how far she's willing to go?
Somerset may well be close to realising he has picked the wrong side, it's far too late of course but better late than never I suppose.
Margaret's combination of refusing to learn anything about England while also being obsessed with ruling remains a bit odd. She is never going to be beloved, but with just a bit of effort she could drag her reputation up to "grudgingly tolerated". Yet even that is too big an ask for her, not only must she be Queen, she must also be a Queen who had open contempt for all her subjects.
Margaret's combination of refusing to learn anything about England while also being obsessed with ruling remains a bit odd. She is never going to be beloved, but with just a bit of effort she could drag her reputation up to "grudgingly tolerated". Yet even that is too big an ask for her, not only must she be Queen, she must also be a Queen who had open contempt for all her subjects.
Fb-fb:
To all - look for the next scene a bit later today.
He may be starting to have some regrets. Maybe.
Yes, a slight hint there but no promises that anything comes from it.
I think Edmund is too dutiful to do something like that.
Fair enough.
At this point, anything is possible.
Power corrupts, right? And she wants absolute power. Ergo...
To all - look for the next scene a bit later today.
- 1
St. Albans, February 1461
Fa la la la la lan…the music...it played in his ear. It was a merry tune and he enjoyed it every time the court played it. Yet how did it go?
Fa...lalala...too many las...was it four or six?
“Your Grace,” his chamberlain announced to King Henry, “The carriage awaits for your progress north.”
The King looked and gave nod, “Yes...all right. We shall be along.”
The chamberlain looked behind him before asking in a low whisper, “Are you certain, Your Grace?”
Henry held gently to his face, “Sir, we have seen trouble before. We are the King.”
“The Lord of Warwick is sure that you should go with him. Do you think it wise?” the man questioned.
“We shall go where our kingdom requires us,” Henry replied as he sat to his table and looked at what was offered to break his fast.
As men of Warwick’s affinity entered the chamber, the chamberlain tried to say, “There is not time enough, Your Grace. We must go at the now!”
Henry looked longingly, “Where do we go? Must we at the now? There’s a nice bit of biscuit there!”
The King was dragged off and made to ride the train north as considered head of this army. Happily he went along as the Earl of Warwick had spent much time with him while he remained as...prisoner? Or King to the Bishop’s Palace? Either way, he trusted. As he eventually rode alongside the Earl, Henry questioned, “Shall I finally have my parlay with York?”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” Warwick answered and rode on.
Henry was left bemused and remarked, “Our cousin will surely be to there for he is right and true.”
They rode on and Lord Bonville trotted along with the King, “Your Grace, we shall have to...batten down the hatches...as it were. We approach St. Albans and things are...like to get a bit sticky.”
The King held up a hand and rested it on the Baron’s face, “We were grievously sorry to hear of your son, sir. You have been a good man for our father...and for ourselves. You do us well to protect us this day.”
“I shall always do so, Your Grace,” Lord Bonville answered, “Yet let us to these copse of trees. A sound place, sire. For it is about to get loud.”
“Loud?” the King laughed as he was lead, “Awe inspiring when you hear it. Ah! The music, sir! The music!”
Lord Bonville was met by Sir Thomas Kyreill and the two looked to each other as Henry continued in his thought, “Fa lalala...I think it is in threes...or is it falalalala? Into fours?”
“We are to help you stay to here, Your Grace,” Lord Bonville suggested as he assisted the King from his mount, “For your safety as your army bests these rebels.”
“These rebels?” Henry looked to him with a questioning eye, “You think that it is five?”
Sir Kyreill took the King’s hand, “Your Grace...it is but a moment. It shall all be over very soon.”
“Pshaw!” Henry pulled his hand away as he found a nice crook under a giant tree, “I believe that it is three at any ways. Sounds better to the ear.”
Great shouts scattered in the distance as Bonville and Kyreill listened but King Henry kept a beat to his thigh, “Bum...bum da bum da bum...fa la la la...”
“Your Grace...” Bonville offered, “...I could easily have you back to Westminster in but a time.”
Kyreill questioned but Bonville continued, “I think not that it has gone well for the Lord of Warwick, sire. He is pinned back. He was to north of town, but she...she has taken them to another way.”
Henry smiled as he sat beneath the tree with his legs crossed, “My Lady wife does have a voice.”
“Yet he is not done, Your Grace,” Kyreill watched, “Warwick does move and has caused them back!”
“I do think it goes...” Henry sat back against the tree, “...fa...la...lala...la...lala...lala.”
Lord Bonville found worry, “Sire...they do cross the river and have moved into the town.”
“Ahhh...this is funny...I remember that...” Henry announced to all, “...some years ago. Market place and all that. A terrible wound!”
“Dusk sets in, Your Grace,” Bonville watched, “What shall we do?”
King Henry looked to him with a kind eye, “You are a good man, my Lord Bonville. I cannot speak well of your treatment to Devon...or he to you. Yet you have served, sir. We would be thankful for that.”
“Did you mean that when I was attained so many years ago?” Lord Bonville questioned.
Henry shrugged, “We do not recall. And you are here now. And...I think it is four beats...tones...not three!”
“It is a goddamn song, Your Grace!” Lord Bonville shouted, “The Lord of Warwick stands to one side of you and your wife the Queen on the other. I would be your servant as I ever was to your father! Yet what would you have me do?!”
The King showed a sad eye as he looked to him, “It was dear to mine own heart when I heard that your own son had died, my Lord. A great tragedy!”
Sir Kyreill looked to the Baron, “He is dead already and we may soon be!!”
“Then go!” Henry looked to them both in kindness, “Go about your business. I shall be fine. This is a lovely tree and...that damnable song! I shall remember it!”
Lord Bonville pulled his blade as men approached, “It is but a song Your Grace.”
“Yet a pretty one,” Henry answered as Bonville and Kyreill were dragged off.
Though guarded, it was past dusk before someone came for him. Soldiers of the Queen attended the King and pulled him from his tree as he still attempted to sing the song he tried to remember. Fa...la...la...la...lan?
King Henry had no notion that the Earl of Warwick had lost the battle. In truth, he had no notion that they had fought one at all. As he sat to his tree, he thought. God forgive these heathens and grant us Your grace. And as they dragged him from his grove, he remained at a loss. Even being reunited with Margaret did not seem to make a mark and when presented with his erstwhile protectors, Lord Bonville and Sir Kyreill, King Henry could only shrug. They told him that some were to be executed and others to be knighted.
The King gave nod to it all.
Fa...la...la...la
Was it three or four?
- 2
- 1
[the author acknowledges failing own principle of (...)]
If you were fishing for a comment from this one, mission accomplished, kudos.
Two, plus one lan.
anonymous, from Cancionero de Upsala, compilation printed in 1556; performance in the link by Joculatores Upsalienses of the album Woods, Women, and Wine,1983
and also the only file remaining in own harddisk from eu2.
And it is still planned to be used in Book VI of This is where it ends, despite trying to use pieces not have been mentioned recently.
Sigh.
If you were fishing for a comment from this one, mission accomplished, kudos.
Two, plus one lan.
| Falalalanlera, De la guarda riera. Quando yo me vengo De guardar ganado, Todos me lo dizen, Pedro el desposado. A la he, si soy, Con la hija de nostramo, Qu'esta sortijuela Ella me la diera. Falalalanlera, De la guarda riera. | Alla rriba, rriba, En Val de Roncales, Tengo yo mi esca Y mis pedernales, Y mi curronçito De ciervos cervales, Hago yo mi lumbre Sientome doquiera, Falalalanlera, De la guarda riera. | Viene la quaresma, Yo no como nada, Ni como sardina, Ni cosa salada, De quanto yo quiero No se haze nada, Migas con azeyte, Hazenme dentera, Falalalanlera, De la guarda riera. |
And it is still planned to be used in Book VI of This is where it ends, despite trying to use pieces not have been mentioned recently.
Sigh.
And of course richard and the yorkist spawn want democracy, human rights, and harmony. Yeah, richard the good king my ar...err... arctangent function.
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