For some reason I imagined they were older. Also, wasn’t Anne Holland born in 1455?
The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
April 1473.
April 1473. Grafton Manor, England.
His leg was bouncing up and down as he rubbed his palms together, attempting to calm himself and remain collected and composed in the dark dingy attic where he had been staying for the past month and a half. Edward had been trapped with no way out. The windows were locked shut and two guards on the door prevented him from escaping anytime they brought him food or someone came to empty his chamber pot. He had already tried both too many times to allow himself to be humiliated any further.
They had given him some books to keep his mind busy throughout the day, though Edward had ignored most of them except the simple Book of Hours available. He had no intention of learning what sort of reading the Woodvilles wanted him to make, considering most of the religious passages were about loyalty and obedience, certainly as a dig for his supposed usurpation of the Lancastrian throne.
The hours passed slowly and Edward spent most of his time either reading or exercising, running laps around the room to keep him active. He had not seen anyone beyond the servant boy who came with his food or to collect his chamber pot. And the boy never talked, no matter how many times Edward attempted to start a conversation. He was starting to think he was deaf or mute, instead of outright rude.
He wondered what was happening with his family. He was in the Woodville family residence, which meant Elizabeth could come and visit him, maybe even bring little Bess, but he doubted that would happen. The Earl of Pembroke had remained loyal and last he heard about the Countess, she was in Wales with her family. His daughter was probably with her mother. Alive and well, most likely.
Arthur and Grace were in his sister’s care, last he heard about them, and Anne was too loyal to her family to let any harm come to them. He had another bastard with Elizabeth Lucy, but little Bessie had died before her second birthday almost ten years previously. No harm could come to her then.
Mostly, however, he thought about Madeleine and his legitimate children. His wife probably had given birth already. He wondered if the child was healthy, alive and what it was, what name had been chosen. Edward hoped he would live long enough to meet his new baby, but he knew he couldn’t be sure of anything. He imagined Anthony Woodville was in communication with Marguerite de Anjou, probably arranging his death, and it was unlikely he’d leave Grafton Regis with his head still attached to his shoulders.
Poor Ned. He needed guidance still, too young to become king. His other children needed their father as well. Ned was just eight and George was barely one. Edward asked for paper and quill, so he could write letters for his children in case he died, but no one brought them to him. Instead, he was left with his own thoughts and his prayers, hoping against hope that he’d be able to escape.
Ned was a sweet and dutiful boy, who strove to be good and do good. Sometimes, Edward wondered if his selfless attitude was a result of being in Wales for most of the year. Whenever he met his family, he acted as a good brother and son, never displeasing anyone. Far wiser than his years, he had hoped he would be a good king, a better king than himself, but he would never know it. That was the fate of kings.
Magdalene was gentle and determined, his favourite out of all the issue of his body. She had an intense sense of self-worth and an air of confidence ever-present, though she had her moments of trickiness and teasing towards her siblings. Unfortunately, her moments of teasing were mostly ignored by Edward because of his preference for her, and her preference for him, leaving Madeleine and her nurses to discipline the young princess, which caused some sort of contention between them and Magdalene.
Ceci loved attention and praise, always a performer. She was the most music inclined of the Yorkist brood, a fantastic dancer, but a perfectionist in her heart. She wasn’t exactly a keen student when it came to her other tutors, but her French was advanced for her age, probably because Madeleine took care to speak French occasionally with her children.
Although he had once intended to make her Queen of Denmark, Edward let himself be convinced by Charles the Bold to exchange Ceci with Catherine in the betrothal with the Danish crown prince. The court of Burgundy would suit the outgoing Ceci much more than the shy and nervous Catherine.
Dickon was a troublemaker at heart. Always pulling his sisters' hair, hiding their dolls and playing pranks on his nursemaids. Edward despaired of what to do with him, but now, after having not seen his precious boy in so long, the memories had simply become much fonder. He was only four and a second son at that. There was still time for him to grow out of his naughtiness and learn some responsibility for once.
But the King's heart ached whenever he thought of his younger children. Catherine was an anxious little girl, prone to tears and fits of nerves. She did not enjoy the attention that surrounded her from being the legitimate child of a monarch. More often than not, she spent her fleeting hours at court hiding behind his legs and her mother's skirts, mumbling out words for those that came to speak to her. She was sensitive, but clever and spoke clearly whenever they were in a more intimate setting. Edward wondered how she had reacted to his captivity, if she even knew. Certainly, not well.
And George. He turned one in February 21st but could neither speak nor walk, though he babbled often and crawled around eagerly whenever he was put on the ground. He was sweet, always with a fist on his mouth or looking for something to chew as to alleviate the pains of new teeth. He was too young to show any signs of personality, but he was gentle and soft.
But they were too young. Far too young. Edward would be lucky if Ceci even remembered him, let alone Dickon, Catherine and George.
The door to his attic cell opened and two men stepped inside. One was the guard that most often stood before his door, preventing him from escaping. The other, unlike the first, had never before come to Grafton Manor as far as Edward knew.
"There he is," said the guard, pointing at him. Edward sitting on the sole stool, holding the Book of Hours in his hand.
The second man nodded. He had brown hair that was neatly brushed over his head, a clean-shaven face and a long nose between two serious grey eyes.
"Thank you," he said. "You can leave us now." He held a leather-bound book close to his chest and he was wearing the dark habit of a simple priest. The guard shook his head and the man let out a frustrated sigh. "Will you break the laws of the Lord for a single prisoner? Confession is a sacred act between person and priest."
The guard seemed as if he intended to deny it, but the man continued to look at him with a determined gaze, almost daring him to continue. Edward noticed that the hands holding the Book were trembling furiously, like he was nervous. Or doing something he feared.
Nothing had changed with him, then. The thought made Edward smile.
With a resolute nod, the guard left and shut the door behind him. He was barely gone before Edward stood up and crossed the large room until he reached the man, engulfing him in an embrace.
"Cousin," he whispered. It took a second before Hugh Bouchier, the son of his paternal aunt, embraced him back, their bodies relaxing. Edward felt a tension leave him at the feel of someone he trusted, the smell of home, even if it had been many years since he last saw Hugh.
After a long minute, he stepped back and gestured for him to sit. Hugh took the stool for himself, his entire body trembling, and Edward chuckled as he sat in the simple bed near it.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you were still assisting the poor in Cornwall."
"Your mother sent me here," he murmured shakily, all of his precious confidence gone. " The Duchess said she needed a trusted eye to see you and none at the Woodville party knew my face."
Edward nodded. "It's good, then, that you rejected my offer to make you bishop," he said.
Hugh shook his head. "Ted, you know how much I despise attention," he said. "To live a life before others, risking their judgement." He shudders. "I was not made for public offices or notoriety."
"I know it already," said Edward, chuckling. But then he sobered up, leaning forward as Hugh did the same. "Has the city been lost?"
Hugh shook his head. "Your forces have been able to hold London and the Tower,” he said. “Henry of Lancaster remains under armed guard.”
“I understand,” said Edward. “And my children? My wife? How are they?”
Hugh hesitated, opening and closing his mouth, and Edward felt his heart race. He leaned forward even more, grasping Hugh’s hands. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“The Queen and your children were ambushed on their way to Kings Langley,” he started, careful. “They were unharmed, mostly, but had to escape to a nearby convent for their safety. Your son, the Duke of Bedford was ill when he left London and worsened considerably in the convent, for there was no physician there to attend to him. He did not survive.”
The world felt as if it was breaking. Edward blinked, fearing he had misheard Hugh, but he did not. He could not.
He thought about George. Sweet and innocent George, with his light brown curls and bright blue eyes. Too young. Couldn’t even talk or walk, would never grow to hold his first sword, write his own letters. Marry a woman and produce his own children. Never to find his own glory in the battlefield, to make his own fame.
Tears burned in his eyes and he looked at his feet, unable to allow Hugh to see him weep, even if Hugh was was his cousin.
When he raised his head, his eyes were dry again. “It’s Anthony Woodville’s fault,” said Edward. “If he kept faith, George would have seen a physician and lived.”
“Possibly,” said Hugh, “But the whims of the Lord are not for us to judge. George is in a better place now, where nothing can harm him.”
“I know,” said Edward. “I know.” He crossed himself. “May the Lord keep his soul.” He looked at Hugh again. “And the Queen’s baby? Has she given birth yet?” It was a stupid question. Of course, she already had, but Edward didn’t know what else to say.
“Yes,” Hugh answered with a smile. “It’s a girl. Her baptism occurred last week, with the Duchess of Gloucester and your brothers as godparents.”
Edward nodded. “And what is her name?”
“Mary,” said Hugh. “The Queen gave birth on the day after George’s death and she believed the Virgin kept your new daughter safe from harm.”
“It’s a good name,” said the King. “I wish I could’ve met her.”
“Don’t speak like that, cousin,” said Hugh. “Richard is confident he will be able to set you free. I know his council is attempting to set up an exchange of prisoners.”
“Who do they plan to exchange me with?”
Hugh sighed. “Henry of Lancaster,” he said.
Edward stood up and walked away, turning his back to Hugh. “Tell them no,” he said.
“Edward!” Hugh gasped. “Please, it is the only way. They will never exchange you with anyone else.”
“Then I don’t want to be exchanged,” said Edward. “Henry is the only thing keeping Marguerite and Westminster in France. Without him, they will come and they will come with an army. Blood will run again.”
“You’re the King,” said Hugh. “There is no future for the House of York without you to lead us.”
“Richard can take care of the regency until Prince Edward reaches the majority,” said Edward, placing his palm on the wall.
“Richard is not you,” said Hugh. “He can’t care for the whole country and your family. He has his own wife to mind, his own children. He can’t fulfil your role if you are gone.”
“And what I’m supposed to do?” he asked. “To accept that my brother barters away our most important prisoner in my name?”
He heard Hugh stand up and walk close to him. Edward looked behind his shoulder and saw his cousin open his book, picking up a sealed letter between the pages.
“What is this?” he asked, extending his hand as Hugh handed him the letter.
“A message from the Queen,” he said. “Please, read it.”
Edward said nothing, simply breaking the seal on the letter and unfolding the paper.
Dear Edward,
Please, trust me. Keep faith. I know what I’m doing.
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Edward!!! He's alive, he's alive! And fretting his head off for his wife and numerous children! And Madeleine has a plan, she better have a plan for this!
Why do I feel like this is more a letter to the readers than to Edward?
Lol. I mean, if you feel like you need to be assured of my intentions, then feel free to do so.
This is a Yorkist timeline so it should've been clear already.
I will because trading Henry with Edward can either end very well or really badly.
I'm not gonna kill Edward before he meets Mary. I'm not that cruel.
Of course, but y'all just gotta trust your author to know what she is doing.
Hopefully the fact that Madeline and their youngest child are ok will help rejuvenate Edward, make him determined to live and reunite with his wife and children, to help Madeline heal from little George's death... Her plan, I'm sure is a bold, clever one... Great chapter!
Wow, ambitious commentary there, Codie. Are you sure you had just one glass of wine prior to this?