The Wars of the Roses

[coz1]

Fotheringhay Castle, September 1449​

His mount was worked into a lather, but Richard Neville pressed on. It seemed that he was needed in too many places at once, but he would not be absent from his sister in her time of need. He rounded the lake and came to the bridge. As he began to cross, he could see sentries atop the ramparts and some few soldiers that served Richard, Duke of York, come out to greet him.

“My Lord,” the first he encountered gave him a bow, “My Lady is to her parlor with the children. She has said to keep watch for you.”

The Earl of Salisbury gave quick nod as he crossed and entered through the gatehouse. His horse was quickly tended to as he dismounted and took the steps two at a time. He was forty nine, but still in well fighting shape. He knew the castle well and took little time to see his sister and when he did, Cecily was resting on a comfortable settle surrounded by most of her children.

“Dickon!” she exclaimed with great pleasure at his sight, “You’ll forgive me that I do not rise to greet you.”

Richard offered her a bow and a smile, “I think the child will soon be to here, Celie. One never speaks of a lady’s figure, yet you look ready to burst.”

She smiled and directed her hand to the children, “Go and meet with your uncle. They are very excited to see you, brother.”

They did and the two boys were first to his side. Bows were made and the eldest took a keen interest in his uncle’s sword but there were no hugs. All very masculine and with due deference. The two girls were different. Not but five and three, they quickly ran to him and found both enveloped into a hug as he knelt to their height. He smiled to them, “Lilibet...I think you to have grown since last I saw you.”

“And Meg...such a cherub,” he followed as he kissed her tiny forehead.

The elder boy Edward was seven and still enamored by the sword as he peppered Richard with questions, “Have you been to fight the Scots in the north, uncle? Or has father called you to Ireland? Surely they are not calling you back to France...”

The younger boy Edmund was six but acted older and wiser, “Never, Ned! It must be the Scots!”

Richard stood again and cupped both of their heads, “In truth, none of the above, lads. Yet your cousin is with your father in Ireland and I’m sure finding his glory as we Nevilles do.”

“I’m sure your Richard is doing my Richard quite proud,” Cecily grinned and beckoned to her children, “Now my ladies...my lads...let us leave your uncle be so that we might speak, he and I. It is still fine outside. Go out and play and I shall call for you when it is time for prayers.”

They all dutifully answered her as they went to give her kisses and hugs and once they were gone from the parlor, Richard smiled back at her, “Are you certain that you wish more, dear sister? They are bright and fine young things, yet you are now to five.”

“Please, Dickon...” she gestured to a chair for him to sit, “...your dear Alice has me beat many times over. Yet I am sorry for you to have missed Anne. I’ve sent her to keep residence with the Hollands. Tis only proper for the future Duchess of Exeter.”

He found a drink before sitting, “I’m certain that you are missing of her. Especially at the now.”

“I’m more missing of my Richard, brother. What more can you tell me?” she asked.

Richard leaned back and offered a quick nod, “As I’m sure he’s written to you, he bested the Scots come down from Ulster and has retaken the Pale. At last report, he was headed north to meet them again.”

“And what of our north?” she tasked him with seriousness.

“Of course...the Percys,” Richard nearly spit, “Our brother in law Henry moved into Scotland in the summer and held his own. The Scots are split as they are over extended while also to Ireland. I’d certainly like to show them my blade, yet I have had other worries to home.”

Cecily knew well of his troubles, “Somerset again? It is poor enough that he fails once more in France, but then has his brother here to harass you and your son?”

“My son finds his due with the Warwick title itself, but they quibble over the lands,” Richard answered with a frown, “Old Beauchamp could not have known such trouble. Nor did I to think such...but with Percys to the North and Somerset and his ilk...I think my Richard to finally choose his place rightly.”

“He’s a well and able son, Dickon,” Cecily answered him with a smile, “Would that he were in France instead of the Tudor boys. Able they may be, but I am told there has still been no movement from Rouen by Somerset. To imagine that beautiful place...near to be overrun and he sits to his hind legs like a dog begging for a treat.”

Richard shook his head with irritation, “And I understood Talbot to the Vexin was the thing...if anything. Instead, Caen is nearly in hand to the French and they even send forces around Calais. When Rouen falls, Celie...I’m afraid all is lost.”

She too shook her head in derision, “And where in all of this is the King? What has Suffolk to say of all of this...he that struck the deal that lead us to this moment? And the Queen? Is it true that she is with child?”

“That is said,” her brother answered, “Though I have not sat the council in some time. If true, that is the one thing mayhap that is good of this moment, but I fear King Henry did not realize what would come when he directed Somerset to his duties.”

Cecily grinned, “Then at the least, he did one of them.”

A laugh escaped the Earl’s mouth before he pulled his chair closer, “Your wit does not escape you, sister. Though I fear that I must soon. The channel of St. George is cleared once more and I am to sail to meet your lordly husband soon. Yet how can I when you are so close to bringing forth this child?”

“I have all that I needs must, Dickon,” she felt gently to his cheek, “And I shall be missing of you, but I have my ladies, and my children. My greatest need is for you to return to Richard and be his left hand once more...as I am his right. For it is his return to me...and to this child of his own...that I require more than anything.”

Richard held her hand, “He will be back to your side no matter what, dear sister. I shall make sure of it.”

“And you as well, brother,” Cecily pressed with great caring.

He stood to leave but bent down to kiss her forehead, “These be dark days, Celie. Yet like the rain...they will not last forever even though they may seem to. The sun shall shine again and you will be reunited with your man of York. I assure you.”

“I shall hold you to that promise, brother,” Cecily smiled at him.

Richard grinned as he moved to leave, “Have I ever failed you, my sweet sister?”

 

[Bullfilter]

It will be interesting to see where the ‘York-Warwick thing’ goes in this ATL. And whether those boys (and the one soon to be born) ever rise to be contenders.

 

[Nikolai]

I wonder how the Queen’s child will fare. I do not know how it was IRL, but I suspect there might be legitimacy issues?

 

[DensleyBlair]

Trouble for England on all fronts, then. We’re going to have a lot of very dissatisfied nobles very soon, although I am still intrigued to see what the final straw ends up being. Henry is hardly threatening to be unusually competent, but it will still take something fairly bad to spark full-blown dynastic chaos.

 

[HistoryDude]

Somerset doesn't appear well liked here.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

It will be interesting to see where the ‘York-Warwick thing’ goes in this ATL. And whether those boys (and the one soon to be born) ever rise to be contenders.

It will, and of course I thank you for seeing the future players in this.

I will say that those in the know of this history, may get more enjoyment out of it.

I wonder how the Queen’s child will fare. I do not know how it was IRL, but I suspect there might be legitimacy issues?

As it was in IRL. Can't say more, but yes...that may very much be at issue (pun intended.)

Trouble for England on all fronts, then. We’re going to have a lot of very dissatisfied nobles very soon, although I am still intrigued to see what the final straw ends up being. Henry is hardly threatening to be unusually competent, but it will still take something fairly bad to spark full-blown dynastic chaos.

So far, I have stayed very close to OTL even with some few added things to reflect the game. That will likely continue for the moment as I await the actual game fix.

Somerset doesn't appear well liked here.

Certainly not by Yorkists.


To all - So with the trouble with my Creek AAR, I guess this one now sits firmly on front burner. I'll keep at a slow pace as I have more writing to do, but I wanted to go ahead and put this next update out to sort of pair with the above.

Thanks for reading and giving comment, all!!

 

[coz1]

Bath, January 1450​

It was a raucous scene within the tavern as Arthur could barely keep up with the demand for drinks. Most people these days knew him only as Nat, the young tender at the Wolf and Whistle. He was popular with the patrons as he seemed to have an air of nobility about him even if his clothing did not match. Just as able to discuss worldly affairs as he was the local humdrum concerns of Bath. No one seemed to question when Thomas returned home with an apprentice and none were happier than the wife of Thomas and actual owner of the place having inherited it from her father when he passed in 1445.

Elizabeth, whom everyone called Lizzie, swung past the bar again with a wink, “Fast and furious, me young lad. Keep them coming.”

He gave nod and a smile as he watched her pick up three tankards with one hand and a trencher with the other ready to serve another table. Immediately he moved to pour again as a larger man sat to the bar and grinned, “Ale at the ready, Nat. This one has a thirst!”

Nat had come to know the man as Old Fran, the town blacksmith. If he was sixty, he was a day, as nothing seemed to slow him down. Not in his cups nor in a fight. Many a night, it was Old Fran that tossed out the local drunk or stood tall to a fighting man returning from Normandy with bitterness in his heart and hate on his mind.

“Tough one out there, sir?” Nat asked as he placed the full tankard in front of his patron.

Fran took a healthy pull before wiping his mouth with his arm, “Not for me, lad. Cobbled more mounts in a day than I did all of last year it seems.”

Nat grinned, “So business is good.”

“That is indeed a question to speculate, me boy...” Fran took another healthy pull, “...thems that have the coin are not always ready to part with it. Lordly types too. You’d think they would pay their debts.”

“And many of them about these days,” Nat offered a nod as he wiped the counter, “Especially since twelfth night.”

Fran offered a hearty laugh, “And why not? A cock up from here to Paris, me lad. The only thing we can find in thanks is that the Great John still rides the hills. Hear tell he’s retaken Calais..if you can believe what passes by your ear.”

“Not in these parts, Old Fran,” Lizzie circled back again and draped an arm over the large man’s shoulder with a grin, “And you be the worst offender, mate.”

He wrapped a beefy arm around her waist and pulled her close, “You tell all manner of lies, pretty lady.”

“Unhand me, sir!” Lizzie teased with him, “My husband be just round the corner!”

Fran laughed again as he released her, “Knows not what he has, does Tom. A fool and more, but I’ll forgive him. He treats you right...and those little ones.”

“And speaking of...” Lizzie turned to see her twin children run into the tavern each with an arm full of eggs.

The girl was the first to speak, “Miss Bess, ma...said her chickens had been right fruitful. Said to send some on to you.”

The boy simple agreed as their father slowly walked up behind, “A right graceful woman, that Bess. Always has you in her heart.”

“She was in love with me pa,” Lizzie winked to her husband as she bent to take in the eggs and added a kiss to each of her children, “And now the two of you...I should think your chores still in order. Do you not see we run a thriving business? How can we without your work?”

“Yes, ma,” the girl smiled and ran on as her brother followed.

Lizzie then took on a firmer face as she looked to Thomas, “And so where have you been? Other than gathering eggs.”

“A lovely day,” Thomas answered as he moved behind the bar, “Just the thing for the young ones. They work so hard.”

“As do I,” she responded as she tapped the counter for two more.

Nat remained silent and did her bidding as Old Fran looked on with question, “Your Adam...seems a quiet type, Tom. Not at all like your Alice.”

“He mourns Tom’s pa...as we all do,” Lizzie answered with certainty as she swept up her drinks and moved on to serve them.

Fran swiveled back to look at Tom, “She’s not wrong, mate. A hard worker, that one. Does bust her pretty little tail off and kept this place agoing while you went off to do your Lordly bidding, my friend. And since you’ve been back with us...if you don’t mind me saying...you’ve been a bit touched to the head.”

He watched the scene, but Nat said not a word as Thomas seemed to ignore the suggestion with his reply, “It’s a fine life we have to here. Better than I have known.”

“Hah!” Fran chuckled before finishing his ale, “You’re an old fool, Tom! Mayhap more foolish than this old bastard. But you serve a fine drink, and for that I thank you.”

As Old Fran stood to leave, Nat finally shifted to question Thomas himself, “He says more lordly types are passing through. Do you think...he...might pass through?”

“Don’t think so,” Thomas seemed sure in his reply, “While out with the children, I stopped in to give my regards to the good doctor Charles. He keeps up with these things...somehow. Says to me that one or more may be for the block if things don’t change. Him...or him...I don’t rightly know.”

Nat gave nod knowing exactly which hims Thomas was referring to, “It’s been a while...mayhap they do forget.”

“Likely not, my lad,” Thomas wiped at an empty tankard, “Yet when the main stew grows to bubble...the sides may start to simmer. We can only hope.”

“You there...two!” a patron shouted from a nearby table and Nat moved swiftly to pour.

Thomas merely looked on to his hard working wife and smiled. She’d asked no questions and was simply happy to have him home. And thankful for another hand to help with the tavern. It seemed, to him, that his life had turned for the better.

 

[DensleyBlair]

Always good to get the ‘view from below’, so to speak. Everything is still just speculation, but it seems fairly evident to the people at large that something will have to give soon. And when it does, it won’t be good news for anyone, noble or otherwise.

 

[Bullfilter]

Things are brewing in Bath, so to speak.

It seemed, to him, that his life had turned for the better.

Uh oh. Just when you think it’s safe ...

 

[Midnite Duke]

Things are brewing in Bath, so to speak.

Uh oh. Just when you think it’s safe ...

The Jaws reference goes in his Creek story. Bruce is frightening!

 

[Midnite Duke]

@coz1, thank you for brightening my world for the last week. You are writing brilliantly in two AARs while I barely write a decent line in one. All this over roses, they should have welcomed Spring by picking daffodils. (My home county is America's Daffodil Capital. At least according to our propaganda.)

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Always good to get the ‘view from below’, so to speak. Everything is still just speculation, but it seems fairly evident to the people at large that something will have to give soon. And when it does, it won’t be good news for anyone, noble or otherwise.

That's part of the reason I decided to expand the cast, as it were. I wanted to get a glimpse from all parties involved.

Things are brewing in Bath, so to speak.

Uh oh. Just when you think it’s safe ...

Ha, ha! Everyone needs a warm bath, right?

The Jaws reference goes in his Creek story. Bruce is frightening!

One could say that the Beauforts are the Jaws of this story. They just keep coming back.

@coz1, thank you for brightening my world for the last week. You are writing brilliantly in two AARs while I barely write a decent line in one. All this over roses, they should have welcomed Spring by picking daffodils. (My home county is America's Daffodil Capital. At least according to our propaganda.)

And thank you for reading not just one but both of my works recently! Always nice to find a new reader and I am so pleased that you have enjoyed them.


To all - Well, my Creek AAR is back up and running so this will remain going slowly. Which is nice since I still need to get past a block I've had recently and am still fully involved with things outside of forum life/writing. Trust me...it's going very well. So, it's a fair trade. However, the next update follows and one I really enjoyed writing. Shows a slightly different side of Henry. I'll let you be the judge.

Thanks all for reading and giving comment!

 

[coz1]

Westminster, March 1450​

The King was in a fit. His hand shook as he tried to place it to the ornate podium before him. He dare not touch it as if it might burn his skin and he recoiled once more, “We are placed to no place! We are caused to forget ourselves and from where we have come!”

“Henry...” Margaret tried to soften her tone, “Mon bien-aimé...”

“Do not!!” he stood tall with his back turned to her and held up a strong hand, “We have no wish to hear it!!”

She softened even further and moved to hold at his back, “We are two...are we not? Am I not there to be your strength?”

Henry finally titled his head and offered a half turn, “You are. My beloved.”

“Always true...and always my wish,” Margaret slowly turned him to face her, “We remain at grief...but it is still you and I, is it not?”

“I wished...” the King allowed with tender words, “...to name him Henry. After myself..my father...my grandfather.”

She smiled sweetly as she lifted on her toes to kiss his chin, “And some day soon you shall. My womb remains strong as does your seed. And we are young.”

A tender finger traced her delicate chin before Henry turned back within the chapel and looked once more to the podium, “I am called in every way...yet not to where I wish to be. Poor Moylens...he was a fine priest. A good Bishop. So rudely cut down.”

Margaret found a firm answer, “He spoke against our Lord of Suffolk, my husband. And terribly so. Called all manner of names with intrigue in his heart, I do think. No...not such a Godly prelate.”

“Do you not now make accusation?!” Henry spun on her with an unfamiliar fury, “There are so many with distemper to their hearts...to their minds! Would you be one of them...my wife?!”

She knelt to the ground before him with caring eyes, “You are upset. I know. The loss in France...your loss...our loss.”

Henry stood over her and pointed his finger, “Too many losses! And I am to be blamed for them all! I am ill served by Council! I am ill served by Somerset in France...mine own cousin! I do find it poor and more to that...that my patronage is gone...and I should be blamed for it, as it was my choice...from the very start!”

“You do not...find me pleasing anymore?” Margaret looked up to him with sad eyes and a tear attached, “Am I...no longer your greatest desire?”

The King stood tall and pursed his brow, “You are all that I have ever wished. And yet...look what has come from it?! I am berated by the Lords and commons both! First for Maine and Anjou...and now the loss of Normandy! Is it all because I took a French bride?!”

Margaret lifted slowly and moved a hand to his face, “Did not your father also take a French bride?”

“And won a Kingdom from it,” Henry answered with irritation, “One that I have now lost.”

“You were young, Henry,” Margaret tried to console him, “You did not lose it. Your uncles did so. Your cousins...that you take such care for...where were they to protect your interest?”

Henry finally relented with a sigh, “I’ve so few to work at my interest. Lord Talbot did well in this latest strife. York to Ireland...”

“And there be another without your interest to heart, my husband!” Margaret was quickly fuming, “He that did little but march around Ireland and make friends for himself with their lords! Where was he when our Lord of Somerset found his loss to Caen and Rouen?!”

With an odd eye, Henry looked to his wife, “Why do you hate him so?”

Margaret remained firm, “As he has eyes to your throne, husband! Can it be more clear than that? Some do say that he holds a better pedigree than you and I shall not have it! He covers himself in glory...and only his glory and then presumes to speak on your Council and their lack? Your lack?! It is not unseemly, Henry...it is treasonous!”

“Richard has always shown love to me,” Henry replied with a still curious eye, “As much as I might see from Suffolk or Somerset. He was an older brother when I was young...and a loyal cousin at the now.”

She pulled away, “You place too much to your memory, my lord husband. He has not your betterment to his mind. I know it be my failing that this child was not brought forth, but I shall hold another in my belly and that will be your heir. Not he!”

The King stepped to Margaret and turned her to him gently, “I believe to be betwixt and between, my love. God is my savior and my entire desire and yet I am pulled apart by too many in this world. All is placed to my issue, but I must be King for the now. Many may wish it, yet I would tell them that it is a fool’s game.”

Margaret answer with certainty, “It is no game, Henry. There are vultures about and they look for your hide!”

“Is that why you agreed to the betrothal of young Margaret Beaufort to John de la Pole?” Henry asked with determination, “That is mine own prerogative as much as you may wish it.”

“It is a fine match!” she answered with shock at the question, “And no one has been more loyal to you than the Lord of Suffolk. A reward for all of his service.”

Henry finally moved to snatch the papers from the podium and lifted them high, “This bill of indictment suggests otherwise, my wife! The Commons does charge him strongly. That he plotted with the French to invade this very Kingdom! That he gladly offered over Maine and Anjou without any form of advice and consent from his fellow lords and ambassadors. And worse to that, that he was set to place his own son on the throne after the marriage to young Lady Beaufort. Suffolk’s own ward, I might add! It is only that I set my foot down and used my royal prerogative to judge the case myself that Suffolk is still to the Tower and remains with a head!”

“You cannot believe any of that, can you?” Margaret argued vociferously, “They did send you a second set of charges even more fantastical and ridiculous than the first. They are baying for his blood...a pack of jackals that see a fresh kill before them!”

The King slammed down the papers once more and began to nervously pace, “I fear that the blood of someone must flow forth. They shall not accept any less. London itself is in a frenzy. And if not Suffolk...then whom shall it be?”

Margaret pleaded with him, “Did he not deny every charge, my Lord? And has he been nothing but a second father to me as I made my way here to your side and now as I live in this foreign land? Could you not consider in your heart all the good that he has done for you...all the love that he has for your person?”

He continued to pace and shook his head in question, “I...cannot know...it may not be enough to satisfy.”

Margaret moved to stop him and looked lovingly into his eyes, “Who is it that needs be satisfied, my love...your Commons or the King...you?”

“Mayhap...” Henry slowly gave nod, “...yet he cannot escape justice. The matters brought forth are too serious.”

“Then send him to exile,” Margaret suggested, “A matter of years and once the storm has blown over, he may be returned to court and restored to your favor. It should be sufficient to satisfy this Commons.”

Henry felt a tear roll down his face as he considered her words and then shifted to kneel within the chapel, his hands pressed closely together in prayer, “My Lord God...send to me Your most precious words and lift this mighty burden from my soul. Grant me the knowledge to know what is right before Your eyes so that I do not sin before You...”

As he continued to pray, Margaret silently shifted to kneel next to him and hear his prayers. A slight smile did return to her face, but she also shed a tear. And not for the same reason as Henry. She had succeeded at saving William de la Pole’s life, but she would be missing of him for some time. Times were indeed changing.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Henry is stronger than I expected.

 

[Bullfilter]

“Mayhap...” Henry slowly gave nod, “...yet he cannot escape justice. The matters brought forth are too serious.”

He broke Rule 1: don‘t frack up!

She had succeeded at saving William de la Pole’s life,

For now - Pole: some nominative determinism in that name?

 

[HistoryDude]

Well, Henry's concerns are legitimate.

I see him becoming a tragic figure. Pulled in a million different directions by his advisors...

There are downsides to being the king.

 

[DensleyBlair]

Henry visited upon by more than one tragedy, and a fair share of incompetence to boot. You really give the sense of frustration well, coz. He comes across very much as a man who senses that control over his destiny is rapidly slipping from his grasp.

Meanwhile, we have a first(?) mention of the young Margaret Beaufort. If the Suffolk match does go ahead without subsequent trouble, that would present one considerable fork in the road. (Hopefully one that doesn’t lead to a 13-year-old giving birth, but that is perhaps a vanishing hope in Plantagenet England…)

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

Thing is, whilst they are all sobbing over losing France from the jaws of victory (and thus, from a medieval perspective, going from a great power to a backwater), we know that being expelled from the contient at this time was actually a pretty good thing, allowed England to take over the other islands instead and from there, take over the world.

Swings and roundabouts.

Unfortunately, TTL may make it so we spend the next several hundred years trying to get a European empire instead. We could do it, but it's that or the colonial one. What a choice.

 

[coz1]

Fb-fb:

Henry is stronger than I expected.

I wanted to portray him with a bit more back bone than is normally suspected. Plus he is still young. His demeanor will surely change given time.

He broke Rule 1: don‘t frack up!

For now - Pole: some nominative determinism in that name?

Suffolk's fate was determined years ago. He just doesn't know it (nor does Margaret.)

Well, Henry's concerns are legitimate.

I see him becoming a tragic figure. Pulled in a million different directions by his advisors...

There are downsides to being the king.

Indeed true. I really wanted to include that part of him questioning Margaret's intrigues. Nothing in the known history sugests he did such a thing but it is hard for me to think he did not at least a bit.

Henry visited upon by more than one tragedy, and a fair share of incompetence to boot. You really give the sense of frustration well, coz. He comes across very much as a man who senses that control over his destiny is rapidly slipping from his grasp.

Meanwhile, we have a first(?) mention of the young Margaret Beaufort. If the Suffolk match does go ahead without subsequent trouble, that would present one considerable fork in the road. (Hopefully one that doesn’t lead to a 13-year-old giving birth, but that is perhaps a vanishing hope in Plantagenet England…)

I appreciate that. As above, I wanted to show that Henry was not always so weak willed. He just did not have enough wherewithal to change what as clearly happening before his eyes.

Thing is, whilst they are all sobbing over losing France from the jaws of victory (and thus, from a medieval perspective, going from a great power to a backwater), we know that being expelled from the contient at this time was actually a pretty good thing, allowed England to take over the other islands instead and from there, take over the world.

Swings and roundabouts.

Unfortunately, TTL may make it so we spend the next several hundred years trying to get a European empire instead. We could do it, but it's that or the colonial one. What a choice.

Hard to say what the ultimate path will be, but for now we know it will be quite similar to real life for the next few years.


To all - Been a bit since I've put up an update so let us fix that. One will follow and then I need to get back on the stick and write some more. Thanks to all for reading and giving comment.

 

[coz1]

Straights of Dover, May 1450​

“Welcome, Traitor!”

Those were the words he remembered before his mind flashed even further back. Did it return to his childhood? Naught to remember as far as this was concerned. A fine pedigree, but not important when he looked to his future at the now. His first true memory was the wound at Harfleur. The many campaigns under Henry, fifth of his name. The death of his brother Michael. His naming as Earl. His time in tutelage under the Cardinal. The meeting of the Queen, and his change of heart when he truly knew her. And yet...his wife’s words from that day.

He’d pleaded his case before the King and called his accusations and charges too horrible to speak more of, utterly false and untrue, and in all manner impossible. It had seemed enough to find his release from the Tower. A grace given by His Grace, and a respite granted by his greatest friend, the Queen. It might have been worse, without her assistance, but as he considered it now...it might have been better.

He was exiled to Calais and beyond and had plied his friends, such as they remained, to prepare for his arrival and find for his safe keeping. It would only be five years or so...she said. And then she...his wife Alice Chaucer...reminded him of the capricious nature of Kings. She’d always reminded him. In truth, she had told him years before that his actions would be his downfall. Yet then the power...the trust...and now the scapegoat...the patsy to pay for those with more power.

He should have known when Moylens was killed by sailors as the Bishop was attempting to give them their pay. He should have known before that when the Bishop renounced their friendship. Yet Moylens was always able to find another culprit. Never him. Always some other. A terrible piece...but mayhap he found it coming. Especially as he was always haughty...and named his enemy at his deathbed.

One must always have an enemy these days, it seemed. There was no love lost between himself and the Duke of Somerset. None of that brood, to be sure. Only the Cardinal. And he was gone. Even his ward, the young lady of Beaufort. She was a cold fish...young...yet bright...and still so very cold to him. All he had done was to try and raise her as best he could after her father had committed the ultimate sin. To lose within France. And then take his own life. So it was said. He knew better...and so he knew why Somerset liked him not. Yet they were to the same side. The court party. The peace party. All for the betterment of His Grace, the King of England. And for her...Her Grace.

His wife had been jealous since the day they met. All women were before Margaret of Anjou. If she could tame the lion of out his den, she could tame a snake...she could tame a dragon. She could tame whatever and whomever she desired. And there were times...but he never succumbed as the rumors suggested. He never did treat her less than she deserved and respected his vows. Respected his vows to all. To his wife...his children...his ward...and his King!

And then all of this…

He barely escaped London after his release from the Tower. He barely escaped his wife after his release from his house at St. Giles. Hunted, it seemed. By any and all. He felt poorly for his servants that bore the brunt of their anger and how he thought to take this trek and serve out his exile...yet even a week ago, he thought all still might be well.

Until this very morning.

Now he remember how his heart dropped...failed him even. He was to sea...finally beyond those that called him ‘Jackanapes’ and all manner of other terrible things. He’d been told once by a seer...an old man with few teeth and God knows why he had bothered...but that it was possible that if he could escape the tower, then he should be safe. And he had! Locked away with so many others and then given freedom even to be thrust into exile. Yet there he was as another ship approached. He found cause to ask, “What be thy name?”

A crusty sail mate answered, “Nicholas of the Tower, milord.”

That was it. He was up. Who to blame? Could be anyone...certainly York...or so many others. Mayhap even the King. Perhaps even her. He was a worldly wise man. He knew well that men of power could do anything they so wished if they desired. And his life was no longer desired. Always considering himself a man of God, this was when he recalled finally looking truthfully to his maker.

“Our master does tell us, milord, he does know of your pinnace and where you would be,” they said.

“Our master does say that you must come and speak with him,” they said.

And he could not say no.

A week...not even that. His own men sold him over with only some two or three to follow. He boarded the Nicholas and sat for a week. And then this morning...the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Pen a word to his son, that he had sat up well with both life and a fine match with a piece to the puzzle...some puzzle...yet what more did he care?

He thought about the words he wrote. Fine ones. Yet the most important rushed to his mind once more…“I charge you in any wise to flee the company and counsel of proud men, of covetous men, and of flattering men, the more especially and mightily to withstand them, and not to draw nor to meddle with them, with all your might and power; and to draw to you and to your company good and virtuous men, and such as be of good conversation, and of truth, and by them shall you never be deceived nor repent you of.”

He knew his time was done. He did his best to offer any and all advice. He knew not even if the letter would be received, yet he felt need to write it. And that was his last memory before they came for him. Three burly sailors came to his cabin and pulled him to deck. Before the master of the ship, he was charged once more and told that he was to be tried after their fashion upon the articles of impeachment and judged. In the sight of all, his men and all else, he was judged guilty.

His own ship even followed after but did not a thing as he was led to a skiff alongside the Nicholas and there he stood as the master looked over the bridge. The same that had given him words and called him traitor as he first boarded. He remembered those words once more as he looked to the three men aboard the small boat...a traitor. And what is a traitor’s death?

There was a stock to the small boat, and also an ax. A lewd sailor above tossed the word to him, “Lay down your head...you may yet die an honorable death!”

Others shouted to him and he had no other choice. He thought back to it all...and then tried to kneel. That was his last memory. A look to the side and all he spied was the rusty sword...

William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk, did not die instantly. Three...four...half a dozen strokes it took before his head was cleaved from his body. The sailors aboard the skiff and ship above cheered as it occurred and then both his body and his head were roughly tossed overboard for whomever might wish them now. Few did. Not even the fish.

Some few days later, only his body would wash ashore on the sands of Dover.

End of Chapter 2​