The Yorkist Rose
Decisions
Sleeping had proved impossible and the night had been hard, morning however seemed harder. Cecily Neville bounded for her son's chambers with speed, anticipating his decisions and furious from others actions. She opened the doors and pushed back the curtains of tapestry before reaching her son's bed pulling away the golden coloured silk and looking at the sleeping Duke. To wake him she sat beside him gently stroking his cheek. “Edward, wake up.”
A small mutter and movement in return, the boy was trying to push her away, her subtle approach eroded as her patience left. The back of her hand collided with his cheek and a crack which filled the castle Edward's eyes opened his hand moving instantly to his face in his eyes was the perfect display of pain and shock. “Lady mother.”
“Get out of bed my Lord, there is unfinished business, I shall have one of your fathers men come and dress you.”
“I can dress myself.”
“A king does not have need to dress himself.”
Edward offered a sigh and then a hand wave which indicated he wanted nothing more than to be alone. Despite her will he preceded to dress alone, using his own hands and not those of some under paid commoner he'd never have the displeasure of learning the name of. Before long he was walking through the castle to join his mother in her sewing room, where she sat surrounded by ladies dressed in fine attire, some ladies being his sisters, Anne, Elizabeth and Margaret, each of whom sewed quietly paying their brother no attention. Two smaller girls sat two, only one was sewing, Isabella Neville was nine years old yet with grace and beauty of a fully grown woman she weaved the threads with perfect accuracy, her sister five years her junior was far less interested in such an art. Dressed in a dress of white silk the infant ran up and down the room causing quite the distraction to both her mother, the Countess of Warwick and the Duchess who occasionally looked up. It was now she regarded her son. “Edward.”
The ladies looked up, stood and curtsied before each quietly saying “My Lord.” There was only Margaret who added 'brother' to the end of her statement, a sentimental word which caused a smile to break, one which disappeared quickly when the Countess bellowed.
“Would you not behave girl! You are in the presence of royalty and you behave so?” For which the infant child received a slap, one hard enough to bring Edwards own hand to his face and shock to his eyes. Partly for his belief of his sisters being spared such a lashing for the sake of their gender, he now thought perhaps such views were naïve. The child broke from her mothers grip and ran, probably not seeing the Duke as she ran into him and paused looking up with frightened eyes. He lifted her and gently held her as tears fell from her eyes, her head rested on his shoulder as he rocked gently.
“Lady mother, may we be permitted a private conversation?”
“This may as well be private Edward.”
Margaret led the retreat from the room her sisters following, the other women followed trail, the two females remaining were Cecily Neville and the infant in Edward's arms. “Whatever is it.”
“I came to tell you my final decision.” The woman said nothing only waited for him to continue “I will not fight, I am not going to be King, all I wish is for peace. If the Lancastrians wish a war against York their actions may have them one, but I will not find them.”
“For you are no man, no son of York.”
“Such words you do not mean.” He stopped rocking the child and put her on the floor “Annie you should-” He was brought back to his mother as he felt her close proximity she stood before him as she took a hold of his arm pulling him sharply to the window, the view of York's walls she pointed. “Do you see what they have done boy?”
“I do.”
“Your father's head, your brothers head, as though they were common traitors.” Edward said nothing in response, unacceptable to Cecily Neville who wrapped a hand around his cheek once more. “Your father would cry for shame if he saw you. He put his faith in a bastard child.”
“Mother.”
“Do not speak for I wish not to hear from an imposter, you are no Duke, no Earl but only a poor bastard child and a regret. Now leave me.” He waited, gazing out of the windows, his eyes focusing on the heads firmly planted on the walls, the cream coloured crown atop his fathers head, his distraction came by seeing pain as he hit the floor. “I said leave me.”
He moved quickly as he left the room only to stop just outside, it was there the young child wrapped her arms around him. “My Lord, I love you.” The words of a child made him smile, he lifted her again carrying her through his pain as her arms wrapped around him, perhaps he found some comfort too.
“Annie, lets go find your father.”
A small mutter and movement in return, the boy was trying to push her away, her subtle approach eroded as her patience left. The back of her hand collided with his cheek and a crack which filled the castle Edward's eyes opened his hand moving instantly to his face in his eyes was the perfect display of pain and shock. “Lady mother.”
“Get out of bed my Lord, there is unfinished business, I shall have one of your fathers men come and dress you.”
“I can dress myself.”
“A king does not have need to dress himself.”
Edward offered a sigh and then a hand wave which indicated he wanted nothing more than to be alone. Despite her will he preceded to dress alone, using his own hands and not those of some under paid commoner he'd never have the displeasure of learning the name of. Before long he was walking through the castle to join his mother in her sewing room, where she sat surrounded by ladies dressed in fine attire, some ladies being his sisters, Anne, Elizabeth and Margaret, each of whom sewed quietly paying their brother no attention. Two smaller girls sat two, only one was sewing, Isabella Neville was nine years old yet with grace and beauty of a fully grown woman she weaved the threads with perfect accuracy, her sister five years her junior was far less interested in such an art. Dressed in a dress of white silk the infant ran up and down the room causing quite the distraction to both her mother, the Countess of Warwick and the Duchess who occasionally looked up. It was now she regarded her son. “Edward.”
The ladies looked up, stood and curtsied before each quietly saying “My Lord.” There was only Margaret who added 'brother' to the end of her statement, a sentimental word which caused a smile to break, one which disappeared quickly when the Countess bellowed.
“Would you not behave girl! You are in the presence of royalty and you behave so?” For which the infant child received a slap, one hard enough to bring Edwards own hand to his face and shock to his eyes. Partly for his belief of his sisters being spared such a lashing for the sake of their gender, he now thought perhaps such views were naïve. The child broke from her mothers grip and ran, probably not seeing the Duke as she ran into him and paused looking up with frightened eyes. He lifted her and gently held her as tears fell from her eyes, her head rested on his shoulder as he rocked gently.
“Lady mother, may we be permitted a private conversation?”
“This may as well be private Edward.”
Margaret led the retreat from the room her sisters following, the other women followed trail, the two females remaining were Cecily Neville and the infant in Edward's arms. “Whatever is it.”
“I came to tell you my final decision.” The woman said nothing only waited for him to continue “I will not fight, I am not going to be King, all I wish is for peace. If the Lancastrians wish a war against York their actions may have them one, but I will not find them.”
“For you are no man, no son of York.”
“Such words you do not mean.” He stopped rocking the child and put her on the floor “Annie you should-” He was brought back to his mother as he felt her close proximity she stood before him as she took a hold of his arm pulling him sharply to the window, the view of York's walls she pointed. “Do you see what they have done boy?”
“I do.”
“Your father's head, your brothers head, as though they were common traitors.” Edward said nothing in response, unacceptable to Cecily Neville who wrapped a hand around his cheek once more. “Your father would cry for shame if he saw you. He put his faith in a bastard child.”
“Mother.”
“Do not speak for I wish not to hear from an imposter, you are no Duke, no Earl but only a poor bastard child and a regret. Now leave me.” He waited, gazing out of the windows, his eyes focusing on the heads firmly planted on the walls, the cream coloured crown atop his fathers head, his distraction came by seeing pain as he hit the floor. “I said leave me.”
He moved quickly as he left the room only to stop just outside, it was there the young child wrapped her arms around him. “My Lord, I love you.” The words of a child made him smile, he lifted her again carrying her through his pain as her arms wrapped around him, perhaps he found some comfort too.
“Annie, lets go find your father.”