Searching for a King
2
Two nights the towers defences had failed. They had chosen the second. The princes were gone when they arrived, none knew aught of what had happened to the boys, else none would tell. Margaret Beaufort prayed, upon her knees before the crucifix that they be found and taken to their lord, swift and painless. Richard of Gloucester was behind this she knew. The man who had scared a woman to sanctuary, her daughters also. He had killed half his court too. The old kings advisors lay with their master at Westminster.
Even he could not have killed the boys; his own nephews for gain. It was the word of men, that Richard had been the boys death in person if not cause. Yet when few others shed tears for the old kings death, Richard was one who wept whilst Hastings and the woodvilles sobbed. Margaret Beaufort was glad Edward was dead. The Yorkist usurper had died abed, coughing upon his own decisions and choking from extravagent luxuries. Now he would be sent for the eternal torment with his true father. For the Yorkist king sat not upon the right hand side of god, but the left of the devil.
She crossed herself and rose, sitting at a writing desk she began at composing her thoughts.
Dearest Jasper.
The princes have gone, none doubt my lord of Gloucester to blame. He rambles, says my husband, of most putrid miracles. He has forced the crown of England upon his own head and not the prince it should have been. Now he is delusional with fear, which an open crypt ere at Westminster caused him. Sleepless nights did follow for now he fears his brother lives. With the princes gone...
Yet we have another mad king in England to day, what of it are we to do? For the usurper claimed king Henry's madness as his right of inheritance. God seemed most agreeing with that, for it was sin and not battle which killed king Edward. The claim now lies to Henry, for Gloucester signed his own death warrant.
You must return. Bring men.
Margaret R
**
Jane stroked her lovers hair as he lay silent next to her. Nothing made her smile as he did now. Laying naked before the fire, upon a rug and covered by a velvet cape, he was still king to her. More king than ever he had been. Growing thin from lack of food and wealth of illness, tear filled eyes once so vibrant, now losing their colour. It mattered little to her if she had her king as handsome as she found him, as gross as he left the world or a common, as he now claimed to be. He whimpered gently under her touch, eyes opening slowly as he looked at her. These days each smile was faked, he had indeed killed himself, or maybe he was dead before that point those months ago. Mayhap it was that bitch, Elizabeth Woodville had never loved her king as Jane had.. Never caring for his emotions, she cared for his power. It was she and not sweet Edward who signed George's death warrant, and with it she had as well signed Edwards. For he had never been the same.
"Ed-"
"Sh, don't speak my love."
"Why?"
"I hear them sleep."
"Nonsense." She giggled, kissing his cheek, her hand upon his chest.
"I do."
"Nothing will happen to them my love."
"That boy, he is not my son."
"Edward!"
"He is not! Richard, where is my son?"
"He be not the Duke of York?"
"I know not what my wife has done, but that boy is not Richard." He rolled, letting her hand slip down his back with rippling tingles. Almost smiling he turned his head, resisting urges only for the boy who lay asleep above them. "It makes me fear, the tower, and a lack of a son. What has my brother of Gloucester turned to?"
"He killed-"
"Do not!" Sat suddenly, jane scurried away taking the cape with her as Edwards fist slammed onto wooden slats upon the floor. "Do not Jane. William was innocent of all 'cept honesty and love, Dickon is not the same, corrupted by greed. I'd mistake him for George."
"Say not such foul things!"
"Jane, sweet gentle Jane I beg you not to shout."
"Richard, though his arrogance rises is not my lord of Clarence. For beneath George's chest lay what was indeed a good heart, not ice and stone." She spat the words with bitter hate.
Edward chuckled reaching for satin hose pulling them on smiling. "I think, even now, you have my brothers much mistaken. Lord I miss Edmund. How I long for sense."
"To bring up ancient pasts will not help you."
"What do you propose will?" He stood using a dagger to cut away bread, eating slowly with little satisfaction, drinking cheap ale with a little more joy..
"The princes safety must be secured."
"As it is."
"And you can fight an army alone? God forbid your brother should find them here."
"Find us." Both adults jumped and turned as the child spoke. "My lord of Gloucester searches? He wished not you." The child gulped taking a seat. His moments wondering and days of naivety ended in one slap. "My god, you stole my royal person from the tower, Jane you'll surely burn. As for you-" the child stopped looking over the man in open mouthed wonder. "It cannot, you're, my lord." The child rose quickly bowing, only to be caught in strong arms.
"Edward you must not. You know nothing of this."
"Why did you take me from the tower if you claim not to be my father."
"Because your uncle will surely kill me."
"You are king."
"Alas, that is not so."
"But papa."
"Your grace." Father sat his son upon the chair, kneeling and taking the boys hand kissing it. "May The Lord long preserve you."
"I wont." No one moved as the child burst into tears, throwing himself at his father, resting his head upon his chest. "I won't be king whilst you suffer."
Even he could not have killed the boys; his own nephews for gain. It was the word of men, that Richard had been the boys death in person if not cause. Yet when few others shed tears for the old kings death, Richard was one who wept whilst Hastings and the woodvilles sobbed. Margaret Beaufort was glad Edward was dead. The Yorkist usurper had died abed, coughing upon his own decisions and choking from extravagent luxuries. Now he would be sent for the eternal torment with his true father. For the Yorkist king sat not upon the right hand side of god, but the left of the devil.
She crossed herself and rose, sitting at a writing desk she began at composing her thoughts.
Dearest Jasper.
The princes have gone, none doubt my lord of Gloucester to blame. He rambles, says my husband, of most putrid miracles. He has forced the crown of England upon his own head and not the prince it should have been. Now he is delusional with fear, which an open crypt ere at Westminster caused him. Sleepless nights did follow for now he fears his brother lives. With the princes gone...
Yet we have another mad king in England to day, what of it are we to do? For the usurper claimed king Henry's madness as his right of inheritance. God seemed most agreeing with that, for it was sin and not battle which killed king Edward. The claim now lies to Henry, for Gloucester signed his own death warrant.
You must return. Bring men.
Margaret R
**
Jane stroked her lovers hair as he lay silent next to her. Nothing made her smile as he did now. Laying naked before the fire, upon a rug and covered by a velvet cape, he was still king to her. More king than ever he had been. Growing thin from lack of food and wealth of illness, tear filled eyes once so vibrant, now losing their colour. It mattered little to her if she had her king as handsome as she found him, as gross as he left the world or a common, as he now claimed to be. He whimpered gently under her touch, eyes opening slowly as he looked at her. These days each smile was faked, he had indeed killed himself, or maybe he was dead before that point those months ago. Mayhap it was that bitch, Elizabeth Woodville had never loved her king as Jane had.. Never caring for his emotions, she cared for his power. It was she and not sweet Edward who signed George's death warrant, and with it she had as well signed Edwards. For he had never been the same.
"Ed-"
"Sh, don't speak my love."
"Why?"
"I hear them sleep."
"Nonsense." She giggled, kissing his cheek, her hand upon his chest.
"I do."
"Nothing will happen to them my love."
"That boy, he is not my son."
"Edward!"
"He is not! Richard, where is my son?"
"He be not the Duke of York?"
"I know not what my wife has done, but that boy is not Richard." He rolled, letting her hand slip down his back with rippling tingles. Almost smiling he turned his head, resisting urges only for the boy who lay asleep above them. "It makes me fear, the tower, and a lack of a son. What has my brother of Gloucester turned to?"
"He killed-"
"Do not!" Sat suddenly, jane scurried away taking the cape with her as Edwards fist slammed onto wooden slats upon the floor. "Do not Jane. William was innocent of all 'cept honesty and love, Dickon is not the same, corrupted by greed. I'd mistake him for George."
"Say not such foul things!"
"Jane, sweet gentle Jane I beg you not to shout."
"Richard, though his arrogance rises is not my lord of Clarence. For beneath George's chest lay what was indeed a good heart, not ice and stone." She spat the words with bitter hate.
Edward chuckled reaching for satin hose pulling them on smiling. "I think, even now, you have my brothers much mistaken. Lord I miss Edmund. How I long for sense."
"To bring up ancient pasts will not help you."
"What do you propose will?" He stood using a dagger to cut away bread, eating slowly with little satisfaction, drinking cheap ale with a little more joy..
"The princes safety must be secured."
"As it is."
"And you can fight an army alone? God forbid your brother should find them here."
"Find us." Both adults jumped and turned as the child spoke. "My lord of Gloucester searches? He wished not you." The child gulped taking a seat. His moments wondering and days of naivety ended in one slap. "My god, you stole my royal person from the tower, Jane you'll surely burn. As for you-" the child stopped looking over the man in open mouthed wonder. "It cannot, you're, my lord." The child rose quickly bowing, only to be caught in strong arms.
"Edward you must not. You know nothing of this."
"Why did you take me from the tower if you claim not to be my father."
"Because your uncle will surely kill me."
"You are king."
"Alas, that is not so."
"But papa."
"Your grace." Father sat his son upon the chair, kneeling and taking the boys hand kissing it. "May The Lord long preserve you."
"I wont." No one moved as the child burst into tears, throwing himself at his father, resting his head upon his chest. "I won't be king whilst you suffer."