Not to be nitpicky, but Isabel and Duarte of Portugal don’t have birthdates.
The Sunne in Splendour: A War of the Roses Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
I have a very clear memory of me adding it, but they do have it now officially.
Because she is English and her brother was just very recently at war against France.
Anne of Austria had the full regency while France was still fighting against her brother in Spain. Plus Margaret’s brother is dead and her nephew has a French mother
And anne of austria was locked out of the regency by her husband's will and only managed to become regent through her allies and her own political power.
Absolutely NOT. Louis XIII had still named her as main regent but restricted her powers establishing a Council of Regency who was to rule together with her but the Parliament of Paris annulled the will and gave full powers to Anne
The York girls wanting to stay close is so nice. European politics will deffo be interesting with some many queens all coming from the same family. And I hope Italy is preparing itself for young Charles here since his marriage to Bianca Maria seems viable to cause some shenanigans down the line.
Well, eagle-eyed readers will know that she brings with her a claim both to milan and to naples (through her mother, who is obviously not bona of savoy)
Awwww what a sweet scene between Catherine and Ceci, I hope they'll both have long happy lives. Interesting to see that Louis and Margaret's sons may be just as cunning as their parents in time... Lovely chapter, I really enjoyed it!
August 1482.
August 1482. Greenwich Palace, England.
At first, Ned thought nothing of the laughs. Why should he? The Queen’s household was a place full of children and young girls, and children were bound to laugh at anything that tickled their fancy. In fact, the sound of laughter pleased him, because it reminded him that Blanche was well. She was being amused by someone who understood her rank, and she wasn’t feeling so neglected, as she once complained to him about. And if Ned were to come inside, to talk and ask her things, he would be welcomed with open arms. Maybe Blanche had called for a jester to entertain them, or a private performance of some sort of ancient comedy that seemed to be favoured by the court and he could take part in too. To have the tension from his day removed by his child wife and he could pretend everything was well.
Blanche was twelve now. Legally, she was of age, but Ned would not consummate the marriage until she was fifteen, at least. Until then, he would bond with her through shared interests in plays and the tumbling court jester, who strove to please his monarchs with all his talents.
But as he walked closer, Ned realised something. It was not a multitude of laughs, or even a a group of them. Rather, there were only two laughs, a pair. And the rest of the corridor was rather silent, as if there weren't many people there. He saw one or two guards, posted in strategic places with Blanche’s livery and the occasional servant who bowed or curtsied as he approached. But no ladies, no lords or any of the Queen’s grooms. Just two laughs, one of whom he knew very well.
Ned opened the door to Blanche’s apartments himself, as there were no servants to do it for him and the sight that welcomed him was exactly what he expected, though he was still surprised. Shocked, really, by the sight of his brother and Blanche, sitting together by the fire. Holding hands and talking. Alone. Unchaperoned.
Blanche was the first to notice him. “Your Grace!” she exclaimed, standing up. His wife was wearing a dark green gown, her hair under a white hood and she curtsied, smiling rather openly at the sight of him. “What a pleasure to see you!”
Ned turned his eyes away from her and looked at his brother, at the Duke of York. “Dickon,” he said, his mouth tense and his brother stood up awkwardly, bowing before his king.
“Your Grace,” he said. “Have you had a good day?”
“Shut it with the pleasantries, brother,” Ned replied sharply and Dickon winced, his blue eyes going from Ned to Blanche, who had gone pale. She was just a girl, Ned remembered. Not like his foolish brother. Dickon was growing into a man with each passing day, a man Ned no longer felt he could trust. He would turn fourteen in two months and after that… His eyes went to his wife, clutching her girdle nervously. “My lady, I must speak with the Duke of York outside. Please, stay here until we are done.”
“Yes,” said Blanche. “Of course.” Dickon let his head hang forward as he stepped away from her, tall and broad-shouldered like their father was. He was only thirteen, but he would be a man soon. And men could not be trusted with young girls.
When the door shut close, Ned turned to his brother. “How could you?”
“How could I what?” Dickon frowned. “What are you talking about, Your Grace?”
“Why were you sitting so close to her?” Ned asked, feeling as if he would burn up in rage. “Why were you two laughing?”
“I told her a joke,” said Dickon, tilting his chin up. “That is all I’m good for. Second sons have to be jolly, Your Grace.”
“Can second sons be alone with a married woman?” he spat out and Dickon made a face.
“She is twelve!” he complained. “And my friend. I would never--” But Ned didn’t let him finish.
“Must I remind you that you are betrothed to an Infanta of Portugal, a match made for your benefit and the benefit of England?” he glowered, eyes darkening as he shoved his brother against the nearest tapestry, rattling the rods holding it off the floor.
“What does that have to do with me spending an afternoon with my own sister, the Queen?” Dickon asked, eyes too knowing as a sharp smile spread across his lips. “Should I avoid speaking with our mother as well? Or perhaps I should observe a vow of celibate silence towards all the women at court? Would that not make reciting my marriage vows to the Infanta rather difficult, dearest brother?”
“Don’t act the fool,” Ned warned, his hand itching to slap his brother. “Where were her ladies? Where is Lady Richmond?”
“Lady Richmond is at Somerset with her son,” Dickon replied. “And Blanche doesn’t like her ladies. She thinks they are mean and they treat her badly, just because she is a child queen.”
“Blanche?” Ned repeated. “Address your Queen with respect, Lord York.”
“I thought you didn’t want us to be formal around family, Edward,” Dickon replied, straightening his back to appear taller. “Or was that just another lie, like father used to tell us? Is it still Kathy Herbert that warms your bed, brother, or did you forget about her when you became king?” He laughed, humorlessly. “The white rose never grows far from the bush, I suppose.”
“You dare to speak to your King in such a matter? While sitting with the Queen unsupervised, speaking in intimate whispers? One could say you’re more at fault than I am, taking such liberties. I am the King, should I have my needs ignored while I wait for—“
“Your child bride to be of age? Yes, you should! If you were the type of man you think you are, claiming to abstain for her sake while leaving her alone in a nest of serpents with no friend to comfort her!” Dickon shoved him, just as he was shoved before. “She is a child! No less than I am! Should you have the nursery guarded at all times lest Lionel be overcome with lust for the women tasked to wipe his spittle?”
Ned did slap him then, a sudden movement of his wrist that he had hardly any control over. His brother brought his hand to his cheek, which reddened more and more with every passing minute.
The sound of the blow still hung in the air, but it was soon overtaken with… laughter. Dickon’s shoulders shook as he tried to contain the noise, his eyes flashing as he met Ned’s gaze and straightened his back, almost matching him in height. “Do you feel better, Your Grace?”
Ned felt a shiver run up his spine as his brother continued to chuckle mirthfully. The mark on his cheek seemed to fade as the colour spread across his face.
“So you finally drop your mask. Such a shame the man underneath is worse than our father, for all the praise you’ve received. It is a fine performance you give, it must be very tiring to maintain it.” He laughed again. “Thank you, Edward. Truly. I won’t forget what I have seen today.” He touched his cheek again, the imprint of Ned’s palm raising on his skin. “Not everyone can say they were touched by God’s own anointed king.” His blue eyes moved to the closed door for just a moment, perhaps already imagining Blanche pressed against it, trying to listen in. “Give my goodbyes to the Queen.” He moved to go.
“Lord York, come back here!” Ned screamed, but his brother continued, not even bothered by his voice. “Richard of York, I am not done with you! Dickon!” He couldn’t believe his audacity, his boldness. Ned might have his father’s name, but Dickon was the true son of Edward IV.
Ned and Dickon clashing, and over Blanche of all things. Ned’s definitely in the wrong here. All Dickon’s doing is offering Blanche a friend in a court she definitely would feel the outsider in. The Yorks have taken quite a bit from her, after all. Sad that she can’t even have some sympathy from her own ladies who should be respectful towards her at least.
When there's no foreign enemy, the Plantagenets have a tendency to turn on each other.