The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
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An introvert is also less likely to piss them off however, or at least will likely avoid conflict.
December 1478.
December 1478. Windsor Castle, England.
It was a subdued celebration, fitting for a country recently at war and Magdalena brought her cup of wine to her lips. Everything felt false, the celebrations for Christmas and the end of the New Year bringing her a strange taste to her mouth not washed away by her drink.
Edward sat beside her, also drinking. He had returned only a month prior and already, Magdalena saw him tilt up cup after cup of heavy mulled wine. He said, the only time she deemed to question him, that it was because of his injured leg that still ached from time to time, but Magdalena didn’t believe him. Her husband had always been prone to over-indulgence, to creating trouble out of nothing so he could drown his sorrows in drinks, food and women.
The King was looking to the people dancing before him, the Dowager Countess of Errol was exchanging partners with the Duchess of Somerset. Magdalena almost thought to call her niece close to her, warn her about the Scottish lady, but she didn’t. Isabella might be a whore, but all knew that she’d not risk losing the King’s favour in a simple dalliance with Lord Somerset. After all, a King’s purse was much larger than that of a simple duke.
Magdalena continued watching the people dance. Her son, Ned, was finally allowed to attend the celebrations for himself at thirteen years of age and he had invited his half-brother’s wife to dance, Cecily Harington smiling happily as she remained perched on his arm. Less than nine months after her last labour, the Baroness had recently given birth to the King’s eldest grandson, a boy also named Edward, and Magdalena was his godmother. In truth, she didn’t care so much about Edward Harington, nor did she care about Arthur Plantagenet. They were her husband’s illegitimate descendants and could never become a threat to her own children, but it did make her wonder sometimes, whether they had erred in marrying Ned to Blanche.
Lady Blanche was the sole remaining heiress to the House of Lancaster, especially after the Beauforts purge, and the only grandchild of the Mad King Henry, but she was young. Five years Ned’s junior and her son would already be a man of twenty when she could be trusted to bear his children. By then, even Dickon could have had many years by his Portuguese infanta.
Maybe that was for the best. Dickon would have sons to bolster the succession while Lady Blanche grew into womanhood. Yes, that was for the best.
She looked back at Isabella, at her extended middle. She just had her second bastard by Edward, another girl, though this time, she was named Matilda after the Empress that bore the Plantagenet dynasty. Magdalena once heard Edward speak that he intended to send the girl to a nunnery, though no word was said of her older sister, the young Eleanor.
She looked back at Edward. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed and every so often, his chest would rumble with a snore. The Queen shook her head and elbowed him slightly with a displeased twist of her mouth. Of course, he’d sleep in the middle of his own celebrations. Of course.
--
Richard found Catherine Woodville in the royal chapel. She was wearing a cream-coloured dress, her golden hair bound up in rings under her tall headdress and when she turned to look at him, her gentle smile lit up her entire handsome face.
“There you are,” she said. “I almost expected you to not show up.”
“Never,” Richard answered. He turned to the priest before her, and the young altar boy that served as their witness. “Are you ready, father?”
“I am, my lord,” he answered. Richard thus turned to Cate, taking her hand in his as the priest opened his bible to begin the marriage rites.
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Nice to see Madgalena at least able to focus more on the future of her sons, rather than her husband's foolishness, though I suppose she's grown used to it by now.
Oh my, Richard is actually doing it, isn't he?
Oh my, Richard is actually doing it, isn't he?
At least it's her brother and not her thirteen-year-old son...
Very Interesting. Hopefully this will give him a happier life too. Once things have calmed down, that is...
Well Cate isn't exactly a threat. It's not like she's giving him a great deal of money as her dowry -- or any at all.
You can't keep the Plantagenets and the Woodvilles apart, it seems
January 1479.
January 1479. Westminster Palace, England.
“Tell me it isn’t true,” said Edward when his brother entered his solar, sitting behind a large table. He wore his finest velvets, the chain of the Order of the Golden Fleece hanging from his broad shoulders. He looked like a king and Richard knew he was in deep trouble. “Tell me it is a lie.”
Richard shook his head. “It is a great sin to lie, Your Grace,” he said. “Thus I tell you the truth and ask for your blessing in my marriage to Mistress Woodville.”
“You act like a thief in the night and dares to ask for my blessing?” Edward spat out. “Do you even know the cost of what you have done? I look like a fool and you look like a gallant knight in love, acting secretly without his king’s permission.”
“His Grace needs only pretend that all was done with his knowledge,” Richard murmured. “For your love of me, brother. Please.”
Edward looked at him, feeling as if he was seeing Richard for the first time. He shook his head, remembering the day they received the news that their father had died. Richard was just a boy, eight years of age when his namesake father was cowardly killed. Edward was eighteen and he had to step up, to be a brother as well as a father for him. Then, he became a king.
Thus, at that moment, he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t just a brother, or a father. He was the King of England. He couldn’t just act out of love for Richard. What would their father do? The Third Duke had been a loving husband and father, but he knew that many things needed to be done to keep the family strong and in power. Had imparted that knowledge upon Edward early. None of them could ever have what they wanted.
"You put a lowborn woman in the place of a Lady of Scotland," said Edward, "And for what? Do you love her?"
"I'm fond of her," Richard said. "And I will grow to love her. I know I will."
"So why did you marry her?"
"My children needed a mother to care for them," said Richard, his jaw tense. "My girls love her."
"Will they love her enough when the Scottish attack and raid our border for the offence to the deceased Duchess?" Edward asked, settling back against his chair. "You have just said that Catherine Woodville is an equal to Mary, who was the daughter of a king."
Richard stepped back. "Brother, for the love that remains between us, I say: Catherine is my wife, my duchess. I will not set her aside.”
"Not without my permission, brother," Edward answered, putting emphasis on the last word. "Without my consent, Catherine Woodville might never set a foot at court again."
Richard's face changed, his expression going from one of anger to mirth.
"Once, you thought to marry her older sister," he said, smiling sardonically. "If a Woodville can be Queen of England, then another can just as well be Duchess of Gloucester."
"How dare you?" Edward asked, clutching the arms of his chair. He had a bad leg, but Richard had a bad spine. If they were to find themselves in a violent altercation, he knew who would win. "Speak another word like this and I will have your tongue."
Richard grabbed the dagger at his waist, boldly throwing it on the table before Edward. "Do it," he said. "I will have no other bladesman than yourself, brother."
"Get out," Edward grunted. "Go back to Gloucester and take that scheming bitch with you. If you want her to be your duchess, then so be it, but until you pay back Mary's dowry, you will not see me again." Edward knew that matter would take years. Mary Stewart's dowry had been 100,000 and nearly bankrupted the Scots. If Richard wanted to maintain a duke's household, he would have great difficulty paying it.
Richard nodded, bending theatrically at the waist in a mocking bow. "By your leave, Your Grace," he said.
When he was gone, the door closed behind him, Edward took a hearty gulp of his wine. He needed it to calm himself.
--
Lisbon, Portugal.
Isabel was crying again. She had a weak stomach, the physicians said, and had to be fed every hour on the hour to remain strong. Ana bit her nails nervously as she observed her daughter in the wet nurse's arms, spitting away the nipple every time it was offered to her.
"We must find a new way to feed her," she said. "Surely, a flagon could be made especially to allow her to eat." She looked at the physician as she spoke, desperation clear in her eyes.
"I will see what I can do, my lady," he said. He was a French physician that she had brought from her father's court and Ana trusted him with her own life, "But it is best for you to rest." She shook her head, not wanting to, but the physician insisted, "The Infanta shall have the best care, Your Grace. You have my word upon that matter."
"Very well," she said. Ana was truly exhausted after all, "But you must tell me of any new developments." The man nodded and she allowed herself to leave the nursery, her heart racing and her stomach rolling.
When she entered her rooms, Ana was surprised to see her husband sitting by the hearth, staring at the flames. He turned to look at her when he heard her come in and his smile burned her.
"Querida," he said, "Where were you? I hardly saw you today."
"I was with my sickly daughter," Ana responded. "And you?" She chuckled, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Let me guess, you were with that whore again." Dona Ana de Mendonça, the little simpering and foolish girl. João took her as his mistress while Ana was pregnant and had yet to send her away. The Princess of Portugal despised her.
João shook his head. "Not this again," he said.
"You are right, not this again," Ana responded. "I have a child who is not expected to live to see her first birthday. I can't deal with my husband humiliating me in front of the entire country." The implication was clear; Ana wanted him to leave her chambers.
He stood up, walking gently to her. "I miss you," he murmured. "We haven't been together in so long."
She couldn't believe what he was saying. Ana shook her head. "Get out," she said. "I don't want you to touch me while you still smell like her."
"Ana," João said, "She could never take your place. She is just a dalliance, a little thing to keep me occupied." He touched her arms, pulling her close and she tried to fight him off. "Neither she nor anyone could compare to you in my eyes."
"I said no!" Ana shoved him away. It was a moment of weakness, desperation and unladylike behaviour. João swayed back, having lost his balance and looked at her with angry, furious eyes.
"Very well," he said. "I will stay away, but when the Infanta is dead, do not come to me looking for comfort." He shook his head, adjusting his lapel and left. Not to return.
Damn, Richard has a price to pay it seems, though I get the feeling that he won't care too much about being banished from court as long as he has his wife and children. Poor Ana, I hope that João comes around, but he probably won't for awhile given the sort of man he was... Excellent chapter!