Oh my, I really hope that Madeline and her children are able to escape in time and that little George and her unborn child are safe... I'm sure Edward, ever the warrior king, will be able to smash Anthony's army. Great chapter!
The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
This… is worrying for me. Good thing Madeleine’s the Queen and every accommodation will be made for her. What terrible timing for it to be during her confinement.
She's traveling 35 miles while 38 weeks pregnant. You should be worried.
My nurse midwife brain is not a fan of this at all.
My drama brain is here for it, though.
Lol. I'm studying to be a labour nurse, but I'm also in love with drama so!!
Hopefully, I shall have an update to thank you and @ofyork properly by the end of this week!
February 1473.
February 1473. The Road to Kings Langley, England.
Her head lolled forward, heavy with sleep, and Madeleine allowed herself a brief moment of respite. She was exhausted, trapped in the carriage and stuck between her children while heavily pregnant. Although there was plenty of space for all of them, as it had been built to accommodate more passengers than a regular carriage, it seemed that the young princesses had decided to crowd around their mother.
Little Catherine of York had her arms wrapped around her large stomach, laying her head on her thighs in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, while Ceci had forced her way to the other side of the Queen. They were both sleeping, deep in the realm of sleep, and perhaps that would’ve not been worrying enough, had they not been escaping from battle.
Madeleine sighed and adjusted her position. She needed desperately to relieve herself, but it had just been maybe half an hour since their last stop and she didn’t want to cause any more diversions of their journey. The sun was setting behind the horizon and they were still nowhere near their destiny, nor any sort of place where they could rest for the night. Although it was perfectly possible for them to find a plain where they could make up a camp, Madeleine preferred to rest in either a parish or some village, with others to protect them and more comfortable for both herself and her children.
And as the Queen, without the King present, her word was law. So they would continue to trek through the flimsy road. She was sure they would soon be in Watford, a perfectly reasonable place for them to sleep for the night, and she would be able to relieve herself as well as put up her feet, which were swollen beyond relief.
Madeleine remained the only one awake in her carriage. In her arms, the Duke of Bedford had finally cried himself to slumber, especially after his wet nurse fed him for a long hour so he’d regain his strength, but he still had his mouth parted to let in shuddering and wheezing breaths. She sighed and pressed a kiss to his warm forehead, feeling the fever with her lips.
Poor lamb. Perhaps there was a physician in Watford, or even Kings Langley, that could see if there was anything they could do, but with children this young, it usually rested in the hands of the Lord. She just hoped George would be strong enough to move past the fever and live.
“Mother?” someone asked, voice groggy with sleep. Madeleine raised her gaze and saw Ned on the other side, raising his head from where it was resting on Magdalene’s shoulder as he rubbed at his eyes. “Are we there yet?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Not yet, my love. Go back to sleep, I shall wake you when we arrive.”
He nodded, but did not move. Ned rubbed his eyes again and yawned, placing a hand on the long head of Guinefort. The dog made a contented sound low on his throat, pressing his face harder against Ned’s loving strokes.
“Mother,” her son began, careful of his tone, “Why did we have to leave London?”
Madeleine sighed. She knew it would be inappropriate for the children to know everything about the war, as they just weren’t ready for such information, but the younger babes were sleeping and Ned was Edward’s son and heir. He was nearly eight years old. Surely, he could know something, if not everything.
“There is a bad man who wants to take your father’s crown,” she started, careful. Ned knew about the Lancasters and old King Henry, he had to learn history, but he wouldn’t know about Anthony Woodville. “And papa imprisoned him, so he wouldn’t do so. Now, the Earl of Rivers wants to set him free and he is riding to London with an army. Because he loves us, papa sent us to safety while he deals with the traitor.”
Ned nodded as she spoke, taking in the information calmly. Then, he bit his lip nervously, before he spoke, “But it will be alright, won’t it? Father will not let the Earl of Rivers set Lancaster free, right?”
She hesitated. There was nothing more than she wanted to say yes, Edward will keep us safe. He will not let any harm come to this family or to this country, but she couldn’t say so. Only the Lord knew how this battle would end and to presume to know His will was a grievous sin. So, instead, she sighed and Ned’s face fell.
“I don’t know, my love,” she said. “I hope so, but truly, anything can happen. But,” she took his hand, not letting him fall into anxious despair common to boys of his age, “I know your father will do his best to make sure that everything remains as it was. He is very lucky in battle and he loves us too much to see anything bad happen to us while he lives.”
Ned nodded and gave her a shy smile, much more relaxed. But then, his face took a fearful expression and he looked sideways before he leaned forward, speaking, “But if the King dies… What will happen to us?”
“Don’t speak like that,” Madeleine said sharply and made a cross over herself as if warding off his words. Ned widened his eyes and mimicked her movement, murmuring a quick prayer under his breath. Madeleine took in a deep breath and tried to smile, adjusting George on her arms. Ned was just a child. He didn’t yet understand how words could have weight in the world. “But, if something bad were to happen to the King, and we shall pray fervently for nothing to happen, it means you will be King of England.”
“But I’m so young,” Ned complained.
“I know,” she answered. “But there is no other way. You’re the eldest son of King Edward IV and once he goes to meet our Maker, you will be King Edward V.”
“But I’m not my father’s eldest son,” said Ned. “Arthur is.”
Madeleine sighed. Arthur Plantagenet was her husband’s eldest bastard, born just three years before her marriage in 1461. He was polite enough to her, always mindful of her position, but they weren’t exactly close. She knew him better than she knew Lady Bess Plantagenet, certainly, as he lived at the court since before her first husband died, but it seemed to her that Arthur was far fonder of his siblings than he was of her. And there was nothing wrong with that.
“Arthur is not legitimate like you are,” she said, careful. “Your father is married to me, not to Arthur’s mother, which means he can never inherit anything. Neither England, nor York, nor nothing. He is a bastard and you are the Prince of Wales.”
Ned nodded, solemn. “Do you know who is Arthur’s mother, mama?” her son asked, voice soft.
She nodded. Edward had told her years before when she asked him about it.
“Eleanor Butler,” she said. “She was a lady at court who died some years ago. I don’t think you’ve ever met her.”
He yawned and laid his head against Magdalene’s bony shoulder once more, tilting his body in the same direction as his sister’s, who slept while leaning on her cousin, Annie Holland. Madeleine smiled and adjusted her position. It proved more comfortable, as it didn’t put as much pressure on her bladder, and George’s head was supported by her breast and belly while he slept peacefully.
Thundering steps, however, broke the peaceful image and the carriage rolled to a stop. Madeleine frowned and tried to stick her head out the window, to see what was happening, but Catherine whined in her sleep, tightening her arms on her waist and she couldn’t move.
“Who goes there?” said a voice she recognized as the man that was accompanying them. William Boleyn had a booming voice that commanded respect, but the person who was speaking to him did not seem to share it.
“I told you there was a royal coach going around,” said a strange male voice, a thick accent from Hertfordshire lacing his words. “Who is inside? Who are you guarding?”
“Make way for Her Grace, the Queen of England,” William demanded.
“Which Queen?” another voice demanded. “The Red Queen, or the White Queen?”
The shouting was beginning to wake the children. First was Ned, who barely had fallen asleep, then Magdalene and Dickon who rubbed at their eyes as they turned to Madeleine with questioning lips. She pressed a finger to her mouth, indicating for them to be quiet, and they did so, eyes wide. Although nothing had happened yet, she had a strange feeling deep in her belly that there was something wrong and she didn’t want her children to draw attention to themselves.
“I see a white rose!” someone shouted, right beside them. Catherine opened her eyes, whining as she rubbed her face on Madeleine’s skirts, and the Queen pressed a hand to her head, hoping to calm her before she began to cry. “This is the carriage of the York Queen!”
“Make way for Her Grace,” William demanded once more, “Or suffer the King’s justice.”
“The King is in the tower!” someone shot back. “The rightful King, Henry of Lancaster!”
“Mama,” Ned whispered, “I’m scared.”
Lady Hastings and George’s wet nurse were awake now, looking around with wide eyes full of fear. Madeleine felt her heart reach her throat and she adjusted her hold on her son, holding him as close as she possibly could. She looked out the window and saw a face staring back at her, rotten teeth dangling from a large smile full of malice.
“William,” said the Queen, “Get us out of here. Now.”
Her words did not reach him in time for there to be a peaceful withdrawal. Madeleine heard the whizzing sound of an arrow cutting the wind and the grunt of a man clearly shot in the throat. At the same time, one of her guards grabbed the man on her window by the shoulder with a gloved hand while stabbing him in the back with his sword within sight of her children. Catherine shrieked in fear and George was startled awake, her entire body shaking with fear as the heirs to York began to cry desperately.
“Protect the Queen!” someone shouted and the horses neighed. She couldn’t see anything, could only hear the commoners still loyal to Lancaster fighting against her protectors, the darkness of the night shielding everything but the glint of the blades that moved past her windows.
“Mama!” Catherine shrieked, pressing her face against her belly at the same time that Dickon began to cry, grabbing at his golden curls with anxious little hands. Lady Neville took the Duke of York in her arms and the wet nurse began to pray loudly. Annie Holland, the oldest of the children in the carriage, wrapped her arms around Magdalene and the two cousins cried silently. “I want papa!”
“Protect the Queen!”
The words seemed to surround her, her entire world spinning. George was shrieking in her ear, his face a furious red. “Your Grace, give the Duke of Bedford to me!” said the wet nurse and Madeleine moved without meaning to, handing off her son. He didn’t quiet in her arms. If anything, he began to cry even louder, coughing and sobbing. Scared at the sounds. George seemed only to stop when the wet nurse opened her bodice and exposed one of her breasts. His cries were muffled as she placed it in his open mouth and quickly enough, he began to feed, calmed by the rhythmic motion and the warm embrace of someone trusted.
“Get away!” Ned shouted and Madeleine moved her gaze to see him by the opened door, shoving his boot in the face of a man that had tried to grab him. A guard, drawn in by the Prince’s cries, grabbed the offender away and Ned pulled the door shut.
Madeleine watched everything. She was frozen in place, scared, but the sight of her dear children crying was too much to her ears. The babe within her moved, kicking wildly and she wanted nothing more than the life she first wanted after Gaston died. A nun’s habit, no worries, no one to care for, no one who could be taken from her like her dear husband was.
“Ned!” someone shouted and she only belatedly realized it was her. The boy sat once again, but this time, she pulled him into her lap, ignoring her belly between them. Her heart was thrumming rapidly within her chest and her mouth was dry as the skirmish continued outside of the carriage.
“Mama! Mama!” Catherine shrieked and Guinefort barked loudly, something uncommon for a dog of his breed and usual calm personality. Madeleine held Catherine and Ceci close to her, Ned’s arms tightly wrapped around her neck and she closed her eyes.
Please, dear Lord. Save my children. If I have displeased You, take me, but do not take my children. They are innocent. They have harmed no soul, no creature of Your making. Save my children, please, dear Lord.
A horse shrieked in the distance and the gurgling sounds of someone choking in blood filled her ears, even as she pressed Catherine’s face to her sides. “Don’t look,” she demanded. “Don’t look.”
“I want my father!” Dickon of York screamed out and Lady Neville kissed his face as she tried to clean his tears away.
The carriage rattled with the movement of the battles and there didn’t seem to be any moment where they could escape, where they could find freedom and even if it did, what would happen? They were in the middle of the road, nowhere to run. She didn’t know this part of the country well and she was heavy with child and with six children younger than ten who needed her help.
It felt like hours had passed before the grunts and screams of the dying finally ended. Madeleine’s thighs were slick with warm urine, her heart thrumming rapidly in her chest and the children still sobbed in her arms when the door to her carriage opened and William Boleyn appeared, half of his face lit up by the moonlight.
“They are gone, Your Grace,” he said, careful, “But they killed our horses. I’m afraid we won’t be able to reach Kings Langley.” He was wincing and when she stood up to leave the carriage, she realized he had a hand pressed to his side.
“You’re hurt,” she told him.
“Tis but a scratch, my lady,” William answered. “I will live.”
Madeleine nodded and looked around herself. There were bodies littering the side of the road, horses and men. When the children began to leave the carriage, the guards that were still standing moved to shield them from view, but they had heard enough to know what happened.
“We must find shelter,” she said, weakly. The child was still moving inside of her and George was still coughing in his wet nurse’s arms. The third carriage opened and her ladies-in-waiting filtered out, unharmed. Madeleine sagged in relief when Lady Richmond came close to her, wrapping her skinny arms around her royal friend.
“There is a convent less than half a mile away, Your Grace,” said a guard, pointing in the direction. “It’s dedicated to St Vincent.”
“Can you take us there, good sir?” she asked. Madeleine looked at William Boleyn, who was sagging weakly against the side of her carriage, hand still pressed to the bloody wound on his body.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man said. “It shouldn’t take an hour for us to arrive. You and the children should be able to rest.”
Madeleine nodded. “Lead the way then.”
Ah yes, Lancastrians. A really pleasant lot.
Here’s hoping the bastards don’t try and attack a church.
Ahhhh! That was certainly an intense read, very glad that young Ned and all the other children, along with Madeline are all ok, though I definitely worry about Madeline and little Goerge. Excellent chapter!
This chapter was a real nailbiter! I'm so afraid for Madeleine and her babies, not sure if a church will provide any protection against dangerous Lancastrians...