The Yorkist Rose

December 1470.

“Sire we must move, leave, flee with haste.”

“You wish me to murder my glory? My pride?” Edward spoke lazily, offering a lazy hand wave as though the threat did not bother him. Hastings and Gloucester looked at him, urgency on their faces. “My Lord Warwick wishes your blood, Anjou too, of course you know of Anne's marriage-”

“If you can call it that.”

“It is that, Lancaster have Warwick and Clarence and thousands of men. The cause is lost, you should flee.” Hastings spoke calmly, trying to keep Edward's attention on him.
“My queen what of her?”

“She is in the Tower still your grace.”

“Anthony, you shall follow us, but please send word to your sister, tell her to reach sanctuary. We must depart.” Edward dismissed the army with speed, donned his robes and left for the coast followed by Hastings, Gloucester and Anthony Woodville, they rode with speed, Edward's mind was racing, he thought of the baby still growing inside his wife, in need of strength, his son so at risk of dying, his wife so alone, both vulnerable, his daughters having to witness the events of their mothers pain. He almost cried as he boarded the ship. Anthony looked at the king as they sailed away, Edward smiled sadly, the man had looked as though on key at the second Edward swore he felt his heart break.

**

Five months had passed, Edward, now comfortable and happily reconciled with Margaret who had spent many a day telling her brother of the happy times, assuming he would not see her unhappiness. After all he knew she was unhappy, the Duke of Burgandy had proven to be the most ignorant man he could have hoped to never see, a poor host and a bad tempered man who Edward saw brought his sister no joy. He wished, for once only, that his sister would take after her older female influence and divorce her husband just as their sister, Anne, had divorced the Duke of Exeter, a man Edward had heard was working with Warwick over the sea. Margaret of course had spoken with George also, she had pretended she had not, Edward knew she had of course, he knew George would know too, though if only for flattery to their dear sister they would say nothing of knowing and pretend they were clueless, after all it seemed she could have benefited both of their causes.

She escorted the men, Anthony, Hastings and Edward (plus a thousand or so commons) to the docks, watching her brother board the ship with confidence, dishing orders as though they were fair helpings of food in his court, people taking such orders with such light attitude and obeying every word. She questioned how he did it. Edward watched as his sister fought the urge to join him upon the boat. Of course, any other occasion he knew he might have invited her, but he could not, he settled for a brief embrace and wishing her well, accepted her gift of a bag of gold for his cause and spoke some nice words, all of which made her smile. Then he was away, Hastings boarded with him, Anthony took another.
It was on this journey where the two men, Hastings and his king, were able to rekindle the talks which so long ago they had had when seeking refuge in Calais, now they felt the same, only they were leaving refuge. Hastings had started the entertainments, playing cards and, they both knew, quite deliberately letting the king win almost every game, it was here when at night the king shivered only to be warmed by the blankets Hastings gave up for him, it was here when the king panicked for his queen that Hastings reassured him and it was here, when Edward complained of a longing for home that Hastings told the man he saw land.

Easter Saturday 1471.

Hasting's waited with Gloucester, and Woodville outside of Barnet, the King was falling behind, he had taken a detour to London, reclaimed his crown – after lying with the other nobles in York, his claim being his wished only his lands and duchy, he had rode with speed to London, taken his crown and imprisoned mad King Henry in the Tower, visited Elizabeth – of course and Hastings had no need to guess what he had done to the woman, all he could hope was that Edward's spirit was high and that the satisfaction of the nights love making had pleased him. He could hope too that the child was a boy.

Edward caught them by noon, hungry and wrapped well in a cloak he jumped from his horse, wrapped an arm around Hastings, greeted Gloucester, Anthony and now Clarence, who too had joined them a little outside London. The king pulled Hastings to the side, a smile on his face. “You should get me food and wine, I am truly starving.”

“Of course.” Hastings followed the request approaching to see Edward sitting cross legged on the grass like a child, he spoke before Hasting's even approached.

“Sit, eat, share I am not so hungry I cannot share the food you bring.” The words were with a smile.

“You seem happy, I am glad your queen pleased you.”

“She did, but that is beyond me, I have a son.”

“A prince?” Said with a happy tone.

“Edward.” The king nodded, the name was said as though it alone gave him reason to breath, as though that name alone would win the battle and see Edward himself securely back to the throne. “My daughters are all in good health too. Elizabeth was the only one to recognise me, and she was nervous, but there is time to make things up to them.”

“You are too close to your children, your girls especially.”

“I love my girls, is it bad to be a loving father Hasting's?”

“Of course not.”

“They are princess's. They deserve the love of fifty men, a hundred men, not just of one.”

“They have such love, I apologise for upsetting you.”

The king ate, quickly, as though he had not done so for months. “No man could upset me.” He continued to eat, gulping wine, his gaze occasionally falling on Clarence who stood away, speaking with several gentlemen. “I want my brother, the Duke of Clarence to be watched at the battle, close eyes to be kept.”

"Of course."

“I fear he will betray us.”

“If he does?”

“You have my permission to remove his head.”

“It'd be a pleasure.” Hasting's smile was matched by Edward's who sighed and shook his head. Hasting's could not help thinking of the words 'if he does not remove your head first my king.' he could not bear the thought, it brought tears to his eyes and he looked away, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.

“Don’t be too quick to act. He is my brother.” As though that explained everything. Hasting's just shrugged and the rest of the day was spent discussing battle tactics, boosting morale and of course, playing cards. By nightfall, a dark night, Edward moved his troop higher, guided only slightly by the firing canons of the opposition, they moved in silence on Edward's command and settled in the valley, Hasting's sat beside his king watching as the young man slept, his hand resting on the king's shoulder until, at early hours of the morning, around 1am, he fell asleep besides his king only to be woken two hours later by a sharp kick from the same man. “Wake up.” Edward was whispering like a child, the older brother who wished to wake the younger up. “Up, army, ready, now.” He called almost silently to his page who approached carrying armour strapping the king into the iron plates and handing him weapons.

By four they were ready, all in position and by five the battle was on. Edward was leading from the middle, Hastings to his right and Gloucester to his middle, Edward had made the quick decision to keep his brother George firmly by his side with no mistakes there made the men focused on their own sections, paying littler attention to calls and cries from others. Their vision was defected and Edward saw little, the fog was thick and the air cold, his eyes stung from lack of sleep and his hands were frozen to his axe, but he worked hard, pushing on for his son despite the pain. Blood ran thick, deep like a river, men screamed in pain and preyed to God, some called for loved ones and mercy.

“York is dead!” He heard the call from a Lancastrian peasant, only to remove the man's head and almost laugh at the irony. He for a moment saw Clarence falter, perhaps believing the news before he spotted his brother managing to look toward him and accurately use his sword to kill a Lancastrian knight. George took the chance to call loyalty “For York!” He shouted, only to see Warwick in the distance cast him a glance of pure vengeance, and start toward Edward. Clarence reacted quickly as Edward moved back, sending his brother first. “Go!” George shouted back, an attempt to protect his brother which Edward did not follow, instead he continued, Lancastrians and Yorkists lay dead together, a pile of bodies and a river of blood.

At 8am, the armies retreated, Edward's victory apparent in that the Duke of Oxford lay dead, Montagu, Warwick's cousin too. It was at around 8:30 when Gloucester, Anthony and George returned. “Warwick is dead.”

“He is?” Edward looked into the distance, a small amount of loss registered in his voice, regret, almost mourning.

“Yes brother, I myself did it.” George spoke proudly, only to receive a nod from Edward as the king stepped away. Hasting's found himself offering the man an unwilling congratulations before joining Edward as he walked away to find his horse.

“Where are you going? What was that?”

“I am going to Westminster, and that was hell.” His mind went to Wakefield, to Towton, his stomach wreched, told him to be sick, his mind told him to hold it. He almost choked, his face drained of colour, he had been wrong, that was not hell but close enough. His arm hurt badly from a gash, his head spun from the sight of the blood and the pain.

“George did the right thing.” Hasting's brought him back to reality.

“Only to push away his guilt, I wanted Warwick alive.”

“For what?” Hasting's was truly surprised.

“To reason with him, he could have.” The king paused and sighed his eyes closing. “He did the right thing.”

“Oh your grace, always the merciful type. He had to be killed, he would only have betrayed you again it had to happen.” Seeing the kings apparent pain, Hasting's reached for him, his hand resting on the kings arm. Edward did not move as the man stepped closer, only when Hasting's arm touched his own. The Lord's heart beat sped, he could feel it, he could barely think of his wife, although he knew the king would think of his. Hastings couldn't stand to see the man who meant so much to himself and to England tear himself apart over a traitor. Not even if that traitor was the reason that Edward indeed meant that much.

St Pauls Cathedral, 11am, Easter Sunday 1471

Elizabeth Woodville had gone to the Easter mass, hearing the words she had been able to let the worries of her husband rush away from her, he would be fine, her mother had assured her. Edward would be fine and he would return to them in good health. Her mother was seldom wrong on these things. The bishop spoke clearly, loud, the crowds embraced his words, the entire thing was beautiful. Her children sat beside her, her mother close by, they looked at each other. Elizabeth could see the worry in her mother's eyes. Edward would have fought already and yet the word had not come to them. It wasn't long before the cathedral fell silent and the doors swung open, light filling the rooms. Horses could be heard whinnying outside, clanking metal on the floor. Elizabeth looked up to see the banners of Warwick and Oxford being brought to the front. Men in blood stained armour entered, walking slowly. For a moment her heart sank, her husband had sent no word and those awful banners now approached, it wasn't until Edward removed the iron helmet from his head and walked over to kiss her that she drew breath. Standing she kissed her husband and he held her close. “You are filthy and for once husband, you reek of death and dirt.”

he offered her a boyish smile. “Surely there are worse things to smell of?”

“I can think of none, you smell manly.”

“I'll take that.” They kissed again before, as all good nights in all good fantasies should, he lifted her into his arms, their children's eyes fixed upon him and carried her from the cathedral admitting to the bishop he'd hear mass later for this could not wait. The children followed only to watch their father, the king take their mother way on the back of his horse.