The Wars of the Roses

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

I must confess I do not know who would be better for the realm either.

I suspect either of the Nevilles (father Salisbury and son Warwick) and Richard of York would be better but they aren't there...yet.

Well, Richard the third or Henry Tudor are both pretty good choices (the latter being an excellent choice if you want to pull England together and centralise the state).

Aside from them, and they're both rather unlikely rulers, there's a few people in the House of York who can do better than Henry 6.

Considering that neither Richard or Henry Tudor are even born as of 1450, that would be a tall order.

 

[coz1]

Westminster, November 1450​

The Queen stood in the upper gallery and her eyes were focused with intensity towards the new Speaker of the Commons. The frown upon her face made her thoughts evident but she was not likely to hold her tongue. Next to her was a close friend and the wife of her new favorite, Edmund Beaufort. Lady Eleanor Beauchamp was older than the Queen and Margaret valued her opinion as a wise counsel.

“What know you of this Oldhall?” Margaret asked with bitterness.

Eleanor lifted her slender neck and shook her head with disdain, “He is York’s man through and through, my Lady. Chancellor to his household and has been with him since his days in France.”

“Then no friend to us,” the Queen nearly spit.

“I should not believe so,” Eleanor replied, “But yet, he only leads the Commons. I am told the Lords still follow His Grace in all ways for they are displeased that York has pushed his way onto Council and resent his arrogance.”

Margaret shifted her gaze to the opposite gallery, “Not all of them. See there the Duke of Norfolk? Your Lord husband tells me that de Mowbray has often been spied with York throughout London this past fortnight.”

“This is true,” Eleanor answered with a nod, “He brings with him a great many of his men as well.”

“It is more than unseemly. It is as if the streets are an armed camp just waiting for the fighting to begin.”

Eleanor shook her head once more, “My Lord Somerset is grievously pained, my Lady. He speaks of little else. Each night it is told that York’s badge of the falcon and fetterlock may be seen all throughout the streets only to be removed upon the morn. And then once darkness falls? It begins again. Rioting in places forcing the Lord Mayor out in his armor...tis more than unseemly, my Lady. It nears to treason.”

The Queen returned her gaze to Oldhall, “I have been attempting to prove this to the King for some time, but he does not hear me.”

“And yet...lose not all faith, Your Grace...” Eleanor attempted to calm, “...for these men here only speak of the Act of Resumption. While York presents his speech towards your Lord husband’s Council, this is not upon the lips of these men. Neither with the Lords. York is destined to be disappointed in his ultimate goal.”

“His ultimate goal?” Margaret turned briefly with a seething anger, “We know well what that may be.”

Eleanor allowed a nod, “Quite.”

“And think not that such a powerful Lord as York may not sway these men,” Margaret looked out over the Commons once more, “For just yesterday I witnessed speech from this floor calling out to give them justice and for to punish the traitors. Who is it that you think they mean?”

“Suffolk’s men, of course...” Eleanor allowed, “...and he is dead and gone.”

A slight tear fell from Margaret’s eye as she remembered it, “And too soon at that.”

“I am sorry to recall the incident, my Lady,” Eleanor held to the Queen’s hand to comfort her.

Margaret held her hand tightly, “You are a dear. I know not what I may do without your confidence and support. For all too often I do feel utterly alone these days. Suffolk is gone from me and my own husband hears not my words. Without you and your Lord Husband, Lady Eleanor...I would be bereft of all comfort.”

“We should never leave your side,” the Lady professed with determination, “And fear not His Grace, my Lady. You are far too convincing when you’ve the mind for it. I know well your great disappointment but it is never too late to attempt again. There be one thing above all that the King does wish and you...only you...may provide such to him.”

The Queen brushed the tear from her eye, “He would not see me to his bedchamber at the now. Prayers nightly...but he would only speak to God it seems.”

“Then you must double your efforts,” Eleanor counseled.

“Should I rudely barge into his chamber as York does?” Margaret pressed with sadness, “For this man does see my husband more than I. Perhaps he shall present the King with a son for all of his own considered worth.”

Eleanor attempted some levity, “That would be quite the trick, my Lady.”

“You jest...” Margaret looked to her with great seriousness, “...but I am not given to that luxury. I am but a woman and the King would hear not but men. Even those that would wish him gone and away for their own betterment. From my first day until my last, I would let him know my dearest wishes for his advancement. Yet my words and my womb remain silent to him.”

“Mayhap my Lord husband would speak your words to him...convince him...” Eleanor started to suggest but Margaret held to her hand more tightly.

“He may play his part, dearest Lady,” Margaret showed an intensity in her eyes, “Yet not with my husband. His words also fall upon deaf ears. Only the Lord of York would find a willing mind and so...”

Eleanor questioned after a silence, “And so?”

The Queen leaned in and whispered into Eleanor’s ear, “And so...York must be removed.”

Lady Eleanor pulled slightly away with a shock, “I am sure I do not know how.”

“Do you not?” Margaret pressed, “As much as I might sway my husband...so too might you with yours. Somerset does trust me, but I do not share his bed despite what these cruel men suggest. You, on the other hand, do. I imagine that it should not take too much pillow talk to convince him of what he must do.”

“He and I would both assist you in any way, however...”

Margaret stood closer and spoke with certainty, “Would you wish to find yourself without like the Lady Alice Chaucer? You are on your second husband. Do you wish a third? For if Somerset does not act, York will act against him. He already does so. It is but a matter of time. Not if. But when.”

“What would you have him do?” Eleanor questioned with some worry.

“You said so yourself...” the Queen replied calmly, “...the streets are filled with soldiers. Harnessed defensibly for a war. Should York...and Norfolk...and whomever may wish it...then perhaps they should get their wish.”

Eleanor tried to counsel, “My Lady Queen…I dare say that my husband should not wish to break the peace. That poor choice should fall to York and his affinity. The better to convince the King of their ill motives.”

Margaret remained steadfast, “Though you be older, dear Lady...I think you to be naive. These streets are like to be kindling awaiting only but a spark to set them off to a grand fire. And yet York would not light it. He is content to practice constitutional means, such that they are. I do not have that luxury. He is a premier magnate of the realm and I not but a foreigner in a strange land for all the love that I am given. I needs must hold a favorite to press my interests and I hold no other interest but the betterment of mine own...my husband the King.”

“It is a dangerous game to play, my Lady...” Eleanor once more attempted counsel but Margaret cut in to press her issue.

“It is no game...” Margaret spoke with determination, “...but rather life or death. I choose life, Lady Eleanor. What choice has your husband?”

Nervously, Eleanor looked back over the Commons before returning the Queen’s gaze, “Then I shall speak with him, my Lady. He holds no other choice but to support you and yours. I will...convince him.”

“And your reward shall be here in the now...” Margaret showed no smile, “...and when God’s judgment comes for us all.”

 

[coz1]

Bath, November 1450​

“By the rood, man...I think our winter does come early!” Richard Neville exclaimed as he pulled his cloak around him and pushed through the slush of snow gathered in the street.

His obedient marshal was likewise attempting to guard against the mighty wind, “My Lord cannot be wrong. I’ve not seen such chill to Bath at this time of year for many a moon.”

The Earl showed a chilled finger to The Wolf and Whistle, “Yet our savior awaits, Fulk. Look ye there!”

Both men were more than happy to enter the tavern and find comfort by a warming fire. The young Earl was quick to find a table near the hearth as Fulk hung both of their cloaks to dry. As the older marshal turned to warm his backside, the proprietress smiled as she brought them both ale, “My Lord of Warwick?! To what do we owe such pleasure of your company?”

“Ahh...dear Lizbeth!” the Earl offered a smile and took her hand for a gentle kiss, “How may I progress through this place without stopping at my most favored watering hole?”

“It has been far too long,” she replied as she wiped down their table, “Shall I prepare a room? Will you stay for a time?”

Warwick took a long pull of his drink before slamming down the now empty tankard, “Naught but a night, my love, but we should enjoy a bed for the evening.”

“I shall have Adam see to your needs,” she answered with a smile.

“And how be those cherubs of yours?” the Earl asked as he looked to Fulk, “I think not to see them since these little tads were to my knee.”

Fulk allowed a silent nod as Elizabeth smiled once more, “Near to their teens at the now, m’Lord. Alice to the kitchens and Adam helps his father.”

Warwick grinned, “Ahh...then my time has run out. Your unlucky husband has returned to you.”

“I daresay that your loss is his lucky gain, m’Lord,” she returned the grin and signaled for another tankard for the Earl, “Yet my eyes shall always and forever hope to see you round these parts. You do know I enjoy your chase.”

“I’ll run him round the town before I ever let you go,” Warwick laughed and accepted another ale from a young man near to his own age.

As she left their side, Fulk sat and began to work at his own drink, “Do you hold a wench to every tavern, my Lord?”

Warwick held his gaze to Elizabeth at first, “She be no wench, dear Fulk. Lizbeth is a most amazing woman. As long as I’ve been coming here, she holds her own and runs this tavern as well as any man. I say I would not cross her and one would risk himself should they try.”

“Hmm,” the marshal allowed a snort as he held his cup close.

“Yet the husband...” Warwick followed as he allowed his eyes to scan the place, “...I think not to have ever seen the man since I’ve been coming here. Tis a pity for I should like to know the competition.”

“As always, my Lord,” Fulk replied as the young man returned with two trenchers.

Warwick eyed the food before turning his gaze to the server, “And you...I cannot say that I have seen you here before. What be your name?”

The young man appeared shy and averted his gaze, “Nat, m’Lord.”

“I see,” the Earl offered a nod and began to pick at his trencher with a knife, “Too young to be the husband I be certain.”

Both Warwick and Fulk laughed as the young man moved away from their table but the Earl kept a curious eye to him as he ate. Fulk noticed it but declined to press. Instead, he questioned to another point, “Are you certain that it should be forgiven that we left Dublin, my Lord? Do you think that the Duke will not complain?”

“What should the Lord of York complain about?” Warwick answered, “After all...he himself maintains that the Irish are pacified for the now. It would appear that his fears rest closer to home here to England and he shows himself well to London and Westminster if my Lord father be correct.”

Fulk offered a curious eye, “Shows himself well? Or full, my Lord?”

“Are the two exclusive of one another?” Warwick questioned with a grin.

“From your words...and your advice to him...our Lord Richard would seem to only take his own counsel and that be not always sound.”

The Earl took another bite as he looked out over the patrons of the tavern, “It is true that he favors his own mind over others. Yet he holds strength at the now. Holds the King’s ear as well, I am told.”

“For a moment,” Fulk picked at his trencher with a raised brow, “Yet for how long? If the Earl of Salisbury speaks it true, then London and its environs shall soon be over run with blood, my Lord. Does this be why we are so quick to return to your Lord father’s bosom?”

“You worry too much, Fulk,” Warwick placed a calming hand to his marshal, “My father be not so much concerned as he is...clear eyed. Circumstance favors the bold, good sir. We Nevilles shall not be left without.”

Fulk narrowed his brow, “You pay me well to worry, my Lord.”

“And you do it so very, very well,” the Earl smiled as he looked again to the room, “Lest you think I am remiss...I am all too aware of the fire soon to perhaps engulf this realm. At least if these men of York and Somerset have their way. Men of means are angry and yet all too many would have the other take the first step. If there be one thing that I have learned from my august father in his travails against the Percy clan...it is to strike when the iron is hot.”

“So you do mean to strike?” Fulk gently placed his knife down and looked to his Lord with eagerness.

The Earl trained his eye to their server as the young man moved about the tavern, “I mean to be in position to strike should circumstance warrant it, sir. My dear wife is not close to her sister...yet families will gossip. If our Lord of York has made poor choice to press his...issue...then so too it would seem that Somerset will act as well. One or both may find their choice wanting in the after.”

“And you think your father ready to pick up the pieces?” Fulk asked as he followed his master’s eye.

Warwick turned to his man with a grin, “My Lord father? No, sir. He...and I...remain loyal to the crown in every way. Yet he is advanced in his age whereas I am young. Time remains on my side. Better to be close than far away, do you not think?”

“Your mind may work wonders, my Lord,” Fulk moved back to working at his trencher as his master looked back over the room.

“It certainly works at something.”

Fulk turned his eye to Warwick once more, “And that some thing?”

“Do you think that we happen here by chance?” the Earl leaned in closer as he offered a serious eye.

“To this place?”

Warwick showed a grin, “To any place.”

“I am but a soldier, my Lord,” Fulk answered.

“So you may not know?”

Fulk gently placed his knife to the table, “I know that you have been watching our young server at nearly all times while we have been to this place. Unless I am mistaking your curiosity...then you have some other interest in the boy?”

“Not a boy, Fulk,” Warwick replied, “More a man of mine own age...and do you not think that he looks familiar?”

“You are the Lord...I am not,” Fulk answered quickly.

Warwick held a firm gaze to the young man, “He bears a striking resemblance to the one we knew as Good Duke Humphrey. Do you not think?”

Craning his neck, Fulk surveyed the room and spying the lad gave a slim nod, “From my remembrance...close enough. I never knew the Lord of Gloucester, however. I know not his visage as a young man.”

“Nor did I...” Warwick allowed, “...but this one is uncanny.”

“You are to be Suffolk now?” Fulk questioned with another raised brow, “It is said that he searched the land high and low looking for Humphrey’s bastards. He found not a one before his demise.”

The Earl returned his man’s gaze, “As I say...I am younger and have time. And this one...I find it passing strange that a lad such as this be such a ringer for the one known as Arthur.”

“I need not tell you that there are bastards aplenty throughout the land, my Lord,” Fulk counseled in jest.

“And yet...” Warwick grinned as he looked to the young man, “...what promise might this one be if it is true? I say to you again, Fulk...I aim to be there when circumstance allows.”

Fulk kept a keen eye, “My Lord...I am but a simple soldier ready to take your order. Yet at some time, you must chose a side. You serve the Lord of York...and maintain your allegiance to the King. Now you would toss another log to the fire?”

“I think of it more as a simmering cauldron, sir...” Warwick kept his gaze to young Nat, “...not yet to a boil. Shall I play cook? Or merely feast once the stew is complete?”

“I shall, of course, do your bidding...” Fulk replied, “...yet I fear that you throw too much into the pot when the main course is right there.”

Warwick smiled, “Do you not wish a feast? For I aim to sup, sir. And it will be a most delicious stew.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

“I do so wish,” the Earl of Warwick answered without a beat.

 

[iain_a_wilson]

Oh those bloody, scheming Nevilles... Great updates!

 

[Midnite Duke]

Margaret of Anjou may be the strongest person in the Kingdom. The more bowls of stew are ladled, the more likely that Warwick can control the pot. Thank you for the update

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Oh those bloody, scheming Nevilles... Great updates!

Thanks. I had an idea it would be fun to write for Warwick when this began and he is proving me right about that.

Margaret of Anjou may be the strongest person in the Kingdom. The more bowls of stew are ladled, the more likely that Warwick can control the pot. Thank you for the update

You are possibly correct about Margaret but she doesn't realize it just yet. She's still young and despite her worries, her back is not yet against the wall. That is when things get really interesting.


To all - Thank you once more for returning and following this tale. I hope to see a few more "old hats" come back and render their verdict. I've had to scour my notes to remember quite where all the pieces were when I left off so if I'm a little confused, some of you might be as well. Please feel free to ask any questions.

 

[iain_a_wilson]

Thanks. I had an idea it would be fun to write for Warwick when this began and he is proving me right about that.

If you have the chance, you should visit Warwick castle in real life - it's quite the place.

 

[coz1]

If you have the chance, you should visit Warwick castle in real life - it's quite the place.

That is surely added to my list of many things to see when I finally cross the pond. Someday I hope to visit the great @stnylan on his turf. @Director and I have discussed it but it has not happened yet. May never, but who knows? I certainly would love it when/if all things allow.

To all - I have another update ready but I'm going to give it another day to breathe and maybe see a few more comments.

 

[Nikolai]

Curious way to show one’s loyalty to the king, I’m unsure what the king himself would think of these words said.

 

[Bullfilter]

Have been away the last five days, but have now got up to date.

When the Duke of York declined to reply, Somerset scrambled to catch up

Always bad to scramble in such circumstances. Almost as bad as when an officer is seen running, thus panicking the troops.

The King of the French is placated and we shall know peace in our time.

Ah, a phrase loaded with future weight and dropped right on Henry’s head.

“Very well, good cousin,” Henry stood again and clasped Richard’s hand with firmness, “We may see what you shall do.

It will be his best … and someone else’s worst.

The Queen leaned in and whispered into Eleanor’s ear, “And so...York must be removed.”

Sanguinary effusions draw ever closer.

Warwick kept his gaze to young Nat, “...not yet to a boil. Shall I play cook? Or merely feast once the stew is complete?”

Being Warwick, he no doubt plans to have his stew and eat it too!

 

[The Number 9]

Nice to see you back @coz1 A lot of old AAR coming back alive these days. I'll try to come more often in the forum than the last few monts.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Curious way to show one’s loyalty to the king, I’m unsure what the king himself would think of these words said.

"Loyalty to the King" is indeed a curious concept at this time. More often than not those words are more of a platitude than a reality, especially for someone like Warwick.

Have been away the last five days, but have now got up to date.

Great to see you back!

Ah, a phrase loaded with future weight and dropped right on Henry’s head.

Indeed true.

Being Warwick, he no doubt plans to have his stew and eat it too!

Absolutely true!

Nice to see you back @coz1 A lot of old AAR coming back alive these days. I'll try to come more often in the forum than the last few monts.

Awesome to see you return as well! Always good to read your comments!


To all - Excellent to see a few other former commentators return and so we get another update to follow. It's a little different in format but a lot happens in short time. Hopefully it works. Thank you to all for reading along and giving comment!

 

[coz1]

London, December 1450​

Edmund Beaufort straddled his mount followed by several of his men of fealty. All of them were armed and ready for a confrontation he was not entirely looking forward to but knew now was inevitable. If for no other reason than words from his wife that had come fast and furious. He’d taken to a lonely existence at his London residence of Blackfriars such was her seeming fury. Yet he knew that it ultimately came from the Queen and he was loathe to disappoint the Lady that had allowed him favor, and more, a valued annuity for his ‘good and laudable counsel in urgent business’ as Margaret of Anjou had exclaimed.

Moving up the street, the men behind him spread out and were ready when a grouping of the Lord of York’s men spilled out before them ready for the confrontation. Swords were drawn, maces were at the ready and those without still brandished their knives. Somerset’s men were the larger force and their leader kept to the front as he slowed to a stop with his sword arm at the ready.

“You are commanded to disperse by order of the King!” the Duke shouted to them and yet none of them moved.

Their leader stepped forward with a sneer, “I hold no other order but that from my master...my Lord of York. None of us do. You would do well to disperse your own force lest you wish to die on this day.”

“Do you hold any idea of the man that speaks to you...you cur?!” Somerset snarled in return.

“A bastard’s issue!” the leader exclaimed for all to hear, “Tis known by many and more and you as well!”

Somerset pulled his sword and directed his mount forward, “Your tongue will sound all the better when it lolls from your mouth atop traitor’s gate!”

“Who be the traitor here?!” another voice called out.

A third followed, “None but a whore’s concubine!!”

“You would dare to insult the Queen of this realm?!!” Somerset shouted in return but the men behind him had heard enough.

The clash was quick and considered undecided for as soon as the arms met, a larger force rounded the corner led by none other than the Duke of Norfolk, John de Mowbray. It would take some time but peace was met when Mowbray directed his guards to seize Somerset. The Duke then stepped forward as Somerset’s men retreated and held his sword to Edmund.

“I should not like to see your blood run this day, sir, for your judgment shall come when your case is tried.”

Edmund Beaufort was not ready to give up and stood strong, “I take orders from one man only and I do not spy the King before me!”

“And I take mine from Parliament that sits in the King’s name, sir!” Mowbray shouted in return, “You have been condemned to arrest and his judgment as the foul counselor that you are!”

“I would speak with the King at the now and not to your lowly station!” Somerset argued but to little avail. His armed men were no match to those confronting them and he found little choice when he was surrounded without a further conflict.

Norfolk stood over him, “You will to the Tower, sir! You may speak with His Grace at that time!”

* * *​

“Mon Dieu!!!” Margaret exclaimed as she burst into Henry’s chamber and found the King, as always, at prayer.

Henry stood slowly and turned to his wife with some exasperation, “I am King of this realm and yet any and all may disturb whenever they see fit, it would seem.”

“You are King of this realm?” the Queen questioned with sarcasm, “An oddity to me then that you seem not to know what happens therein!”

“Your tongue is harsh!” Henry stood over her trying to not show his anger but she pressed.

“My tongue is harsh because your love is harsher, husband! How may I speak with you when your every word cuts at me like a sharp knife?!”

Henry sighed, “You speak an absurdity...and I have told you often how little I wish it.”

“What then is it that you do wish?” Margaret brushed a tear from her eye, “You kneel there at prayer when all about you Satan does use his forked tongue to shout in your name!”

“I will not argue with you about York any further!” the King exclaimed.

“No?! You will not?!” she went to him and stood in his face, “So then you are pleased that he has ordered the arrest of Somerset who now languishes within the Tower?! Shall I assume this comes at your direction and not that of his Lordship?!”

Suddenly Henry softened as his eyes grew wide, “He has done what?”

“You tell me now that you do not know that as we speak he is planning to snare his other fish...this so-called court party?” Margaret remained aggressive, “Friends of poor, dear Suffolk now gone from us and friends of Somerset? Friends of ours?!”

“I gave no direction for any such thing,” Henry answered with certainty.

Margaret flashed a brief grin, “Then what I have said to you rings true, husband! York acts alone...in your name...for his own purpose. He would sit your Council alone and be the only voice to your ear. And by God...you will hear it and do as he demands!”

“I allowed him some freedom for good governance,” Henry suggested, “I did not give him free reign to do as he pleases.”

She too now softened as she brushed at the King’s cheek with her small hand, “Then mayhap it is now time for you to rule as you ought?”

“He shall be released...Somerset...” Henry allowed a nod, “...and I will get to the bottom of this, I do so swear.”

Wasting not a moment, Margaret turned from him to walk away, “Then I shall order it now. There must be no delay!”

* * *​

“My Lord...” Sir William Oldhall implored, “...I am loathe to show disagreement, but how may we allow this to stand? Somerset found his arrest and within hours has now been released!”

Richard of York fumed, “It was not supposed to occur this way! There was to be no violence! He was fairly impeached...”

“Yet, my Lord...” Oldhall interrupted, “...he caused the violence! A perfect example for the why of his impeachment.”

The Earl of Salisbury had remained silent while the argument raged but finally spoke up, “You skipped a step, sir.”

“Begging your pardon, my Lord...” Oldhall turned to the older Earl, “...but it has been clear that you have not followed the others as regards these foul men.”

The elder Richard Neville stood and ignoring Oldhall moved straight to York, “Brother in law...for the love I hold for my sister, I have remained true to your cause. Mine own as well. But you forget the King. My son did tell you it was best to wait. With that, I agree. Yet you rush forward like a dog with a bone. No care that in doing so, you will anger that which you claim to serve.”

“I was told to do what I have done!” York remained steadfast.

“Have you?” Salisbury questioned, “King Henry finally invited you along and while I and my son await our summons to Council, you take to it with too much alacrity. As I say to your chancellor here...the Speaker did skip a step. The Tower is not your prison, sir. It belongs to the King.”

Richard quickly replied, “And Parliament belongs to us, sir! I was tasked with ridding this government of all of its foul nature and the first item upon such list are those that speak ill to the King!”

“And do you not think that this speaks ill to the King?” Salisbury was just as quick to respond, “His wife’s favorite? Mayhap his own? What? You were to set a trap? Well, you have done so truly only so much as to allow the Lord of Somerset to now feel vindicated. You know as well as I...the mood of all men to the street is violence. His...yours...all men, my Lord of York. I hold no love for Somerset, as you well know, but what you lack is proof. Real truth presented to the King.”

York simmered, “This Lord has proved his low value more than enough.”

“And you...dear brother in law...do not prove yours,” Salisbury answered, “You gave the man his rope. Yet you did not allow him to hang himself.”

Richard of York turned to stare out the window of his chamber. He did not know what to do and felt betrayed. He was lifted from this thought when the Earl of Devon spoke out, “My Lords...the time is not yet finished. Somerset returns to Blackfriars and I am told a mob remains for his head.”

A heavy sigh was all York could produce leaving Salisbury to question, “Who leads this mob? Men of our affinity?”

“I cannot say,” the Earl of Devon replied.

York turned his head slightly, “Norfolk?”

“Nay, my Lord,” Devon answered, “Mayhap some of his men. Yet London is filled with plenty that would strip Somerset of all the he has or has known.”

Another sigh followed before Richard turned to them all, “We move too quickly. My esteemed brother in law is correct. Somerset needs must be tried. Not killed. We shall not be vindicated in any other way. Devon...you will go to these men. You will go to Somerset. You will see that no harm comes to him and if some do try, you will arrest them. By order of the King.”

“Do you be certain, my Lord?” the Earl of Devon questioned.

When Richard of York was silent, Richard Neville answered his peer, “The Lord of York has been clear, sir. Do not allow this to escalate. The time is not now and when it is, we shall all be certain. We must be certain!”

The Earl of Devon gave quick nod, “As you wish, my Lords.”

* * *​

The Duke of Somerset had seen a day like no other. Arrested and dragged away to the Tower. Then released only to be put upon by a great, violent mob as he returned home. He stood looking to the ruins of his once fine house and wondered if he was correct to thank the Lord of York or the King and Queen. A lifetime in service. By his family. By his brother. By himself as best he could in France. By all that he claimed for His Grace King Henry. And this was the result.

“The fire to the kitchens is out,” his wife Eleanor suggested as she slowly went to her husband and brushed at his back with her hand.

Edmund Beaufort kept an eye to the empty room before him, “Is this our reward?”

“They have stripped us of everything,” she replied with great sadness.

“We are not alone,” he responded as he moved to the empty mantle of his great hearth, “Others have seen their homes ransacked.”

Eleanor stood holding one of their few remaining possessions, “Others are not the King’s favorite, husband.”

He showed her a slight glance before looking back to the hearth, “An inheritance from Suffolk would always be thus. I never did like the man.”

“Yet he remains dead...” she narrowed her brow, “...and gone from such calamity. He need provide no answer at the now. He is unable.”

“And we are left with all of this,” Somerset gestured to the empty room as he sat to a lone wooden stool by a silent and empty fire.

Eleanor went to him and placed a tentative hand to his shoulder, “You are left with your life, husband.”

“For now.”

She bent to hug at his neck, “For as long as she allows it.”

The Duke held to her hand, “I thought that you were her friend.”

“I am friend to those that would keep us safe,” Eleanor allowed as she kissed at his head.

He looked to his wife with a loving eye, “So we are left to the whims of a young girl from France?”

“You would throw in our lot to the Lord of York? Is that it?” she questioned.

Somerset grimaced, “He that would be King himself had he his own whim? I think not.”

“Then what, husband?” Eleanor moved to kneel before him, “What shall we do to save our life and livelihood?”

Edmund thought for a time and his mind moved back to recall a very poor memory. He hesitated at first but finally looked to Eleanor with certainty, “I made my choice long ago. In truth...it was not a choice at all. It was...a necessity.”

“And so what shall we do?”

He looked to her for a long time before finding a response. Finally, and with a great heavy sigh, he answered, “We shall serve, Nell. It is our fate. There be no other available to us.”

 

[Bullfilter]

Richard never seems to get it quite right - here as in OTL. The fuse was extinguished just before the great explosion, but the powderkeg remains in place and the fuse now shorter than ever. How long can this continue before someone lights it and there is neither the time nor the will to put it out again?

 

[Midnite Duke]

Somerset is dead man walking. York will not be happy unless king, and then will feel guilty if king. Any ideas on what the King suffered from? Thank you for the update

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Richard never seems to get it quite right - here as in OTL. The fuse was extinguished just before the great explosion, but the powderkeg remains in place and the fuse now shorter than ever. How long can this continue before someone lights it and there is neither the time nor the will to put it out again?

No he does not. Part the reason I wanted to present the last update as I did. It would seem when it began that Richard would have made a huge get but by the end, both York and Somerset ended up with a loss. At least Somerset is still alive. As IRL, Richard tends to get out over his skis a bit too quickly and then is forced to backtrack which could make him look weak. Despite the King's own back and forth, York just has not made any real headway.

Somerset is dead man walking. York will not be happy unless king, and then will feel guilty if king. Any ideas on what the King suffered from? Thank you for the update

Despite historians (mostly arm chair types) claiming Henry held a madness at times, I look at him more as pious and uninterested in the more martial aspects of Kingship. Which is not to say he might not have suffered from some type of illness, but I really don't want to lean too far into such a thing. I believe further that having been King from a very early age, he grew used to others basically taking care of things for him. Whether you like the choices made by the likes of Cardinal Beaufort and/or Duke Humphrey, they were more or less good at their jobs. When they died (or were killed) the men that took over in leadership (Suffolk mainly) simply were not as up to the task and more, may have held too much self interest and not enough for the kingdom as a whole or the King's position both in England and France. My two ducats at least. I hope that is coming across in Henry's character.


To all - I have another entry ready which ties up a little of a loose end before we end the chapter. Plus, I just like writing for Cecily Neville. Allow a moment to post and it will be up. Thanks to one and all for reading and giving comment!

 

[coz1]

Ludlow Castle, March 1451​

The boy notched another and this time waited until his breathing had calmed. A slow exhale followed before he let loose the string and the arrow scored a direct hit to the bullseye.

“There! You see?” the instructor announced, “Keep your eye across the vane to your target. Slow your emotion...and let fly.”

With pride the boy known as Edward smiled, “The beast held no chance!”

“Phhw!” the other boy Edmund laughed, “As if father would take you hunting with him already!”

Edward turned on his brother and pushed him, “He would if he were here!”

“Now, now young Lords...” the instructor grinned as he separated them, “...leave one another to improve your skills. There be time enough to hunt the stag or whatever your Lord father might wish. Grow your ability so that you’ll impress him when he returns.”

“I would rather work with the sword,” Edward suggested with some petulance.

Edmund took the chance to impress the instructor, “I quite like archery, Ned. Sides...here we are to the Welsh march, brother. Should we not learn the local art?”

“You’ve both time enough to work with Master Griff,” the instructor laughed, “But that is not today’s lesson.”

Now Edmund relished the chance to show off and did not need as much instruction. With ease he pulled the practice arrow to his bow, notched and made a score that nearly hit his brother’s in the center.

“Ha!” Edward exclaimed, “You missed!”

Edmund grinned, “I did not. If I was aiming to split it, I would have.”

“I’ve no doubt of that,” Griff answered the boys as he moved behind the instructor and whispered into his ear. Both men then looked up to the top of the wall over looking the training yard before the instructor gave nod.

Griff moved to the boys, “Let us call an end to this today and we’ll take up the sword again on the morrow. Go and see to Brother Morten in the chapel for your afternoon study.”

Dutifully, both boys ran off as suggested leaving the instructor to look at Griff with a worry to his eye, “Do you think she will tell me to leave?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Griff laughed, “You’ve been nearly as good as I in giving these young Lords their lessons in the art of war. Yet I think her to wish more knowing of you. The Lady Cecily is nothing if not exact in her employ.”

As the old soldier moved away, the instructor looked up once more. The Duchess remained in her position with her hands folded and a curious eye. She allowed a simple nod and he took little time in joining her atop the wall. As he approached, he straightened his jerkin and offered her a deep bow. She merely gave nod and turned briefly to spy her youngest being held by a lady in waiting.

“I should think it a bit longer for this little bundle to begin his training, but he will hold his father’s martial spirit as his brothers do.”

The instructor kept at his bow, “The young Lords are most gifted, m’Lady.”

“Of course they are,” she smiled and waved her hand for him to stand at her attention, “They hold Plantagenet blood.”

He could only nod in agreement.

Cecily took a small step forward, “Pray tell me again your name, sir.”

“Leighson, m’Lady,” he replied, “Called Allen.”

“And you have been here now for...what is it...five months, I believe?” she continued her questions.

He gave a quick bow of the head, “Aye, m’Lady.”

Cecily narrowed her eyes as she looked him over, “I do not recall you from Fotheringhay. Pray tell how you came to these parts?”

Here it was. Finally...the true question. He’d found it easy enough to gain work when he first arrived but that was moving his way from first the blacksmith, then to the armory and finally to Griff himself who served as the Lord of York’s marshal. It was only a matter of time before the Lord of the keep, or in this case the Lady, began to inquire about him. Yet he would not stammer. Not in front of such a noble woman.

“I worked as a fletcher to Kent, m’Lady,” he answered her, “Was put out when the trouble began this year prior. I’m ashamed to say that I wandered for a time. Some small work when I could get it. Was looking to a harsh winter before I found this place.”

“You are...not young,” she replied as she seemed to search not for words but rather his temperament, “The grey about your temple suggests you to have seen at the least two score and the wrinkles to your face indicate that these years have not always been kind. Have you ever served a master such as we?”

“I...have not,” Leighson hesitated.

Cecily was quick to grab hold of his reticence, “I do wonder what causes you to think that you may at the now?”

“I am skilled,” he answered with some pride, “An honest man. Would know an archer’s task and how to train for it.”

“Yes,” Cecily offered no smile, “I have seen that. Your instruction to my sons prove it. Yet I must be ever vigilant when it comes to their welfare for their Lord father would see them grow into the titles that they have rightly attained.”

Leighson gave nod as she continued, “I am unsure if my Lord husband would agree to allow a low born...even if skilled...man such as yourself to act in tutelage for his young treasure.”

“If I might be allowed, m’Lady...” Allen kept his head down, “...I have served as soldier. More...my father did serve King Henry, fifth of his name, at Agincourt.”

“Did he?” Cecily perked up at the suggestion, “Pray tell did he find his glory?”

Allen lifted his eyes with some sadness, “He...did not return.”

The Duchess skewed her face and narrowed her eyes once more, “That is unfortunate. Yet I be certain that his glory is met as did all others of that grand campaign.”

He did not reply but offered a slight nod.

“Do you think...” she persisted, “...that you might follow in your father’s steps as my little Lords will surely do after their noble father?”

Leighson stood a might taller in reply, “I live to serve in his honor, m’Lady. As I would for you and yours.”

“If you remain here, you certainly will,” Cecily answered quickly and with charge, “I run a house with exactness and would brook no idleness nor drunkenness amongst our staff nor liege men. You have not yet met the Lord of this keep and I must be certain that when you do...if you do...he will be sufficiently impressed.”

Allen Leighson replied with his own certainty, “I would not dishonor the name of York, m’Lady. I hold no other cause to this time of my life and would serve if he would have me.”

Cecily peered at him for a time before offering reply, “Kent, you say?”

“I did,” he gave quick nod.

She held his eye for a moment before offering a slim smile, “Good men there.”

“I thank you, m’Lady.”

“Then do not allow my Ned to stray,” Cecily winked at him, “The boy does have a tendency to be wild.”

Leighson was quick to answer, “He is a perfect Lord.”

“No...not yet,” she grinned, “But he will be as will his brother and all of these. You have your charge, sir, and make no mistake. Their Lord father is most unforgiving.”

He bowed to her, “Of course, m’Lady.”

“I am even less so,” she answered without the hint of a smile before turning and gesturing for her lady in waiting to follow with her youngest son.

 

[Midnite Duke]

If only the Lords were half as tough as the Ladies. Thank you for the update

 

[Bullfilter]

So, Leighson turns up again: a good penny, or bad? One would think he would cleave loyally to the Yorks, but even so, a history of rebellion against the crown could be perilous for him. Though Cecily must have a fair idea about him being Kentish and all.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

If only the Lords were half as tough as the Ladies. Thank you for the update

True that! As in many eras of history, the women prove to be much tougher than the men. And I say that with my misogyny card tucked firmly in my wallet (kidding, of course...mostly. )

So, Leighson turns up again: a good penny, or bad? One would think he would cleave loyally to the Yorks, but even so, a history of rebellion against the crown could be perilous for him. Though Cecily must have a fair idea about him being Kentish and all.

I wanted to keep him around and was not sure at first where he should end up. This made the most sense as of all people, the Yorkists might look on him more favorably. It also allows me to weave in the youngsters Edward and Edmund (and later George and Richard.)


To all - The next update follows and seems as good a place to end chapter 3 as any. Got some more play time in yesterday and things begin to diverge a bit more (but not too much.) The planning for Chapter 4 now begins in earnest. Thanks to all for reading and giving comment and many thanks to all of those that have returned after my recent hiatus!