Status: I dont know when I will finish this, I am just going back to university. But if you want something writing to it, please do not hesitate to tell me and I will get it done as soon as I can!
With Broken Promises Come Broken Hearts
Cont
Brother.
I pray God you do get this. Please the Lord prying eyes do not see these words. We are in Calais for Ludlow was seized by Lancastrian tyrants. Send word you are well, Thomas too. Please God you should both alive. York is fled from Ludlow, staying dictated defeat. Rutland and York were to Dublin. March accompanied our Lord father and I to France. I beg you both, do not give up hope. Prey daily to Our Lord God and the Lady Mary the Virgin to save you.
Report nothing to Thomas, I fear for him more than all. He is so young, no more than a child and we put so much upon him. He could not be with a better man than you brother.
With my love brother and my blessing.
E. Warwicke.
How he could not agree with any words more, Thomas was not ready to know the ins and outs or face the ugly consequences of war. However much he thought he wanted to be.
John looked to Thomas as the boy glanced through the thick paned window to the world beyond. The painful expression set permanently upon the boys features hinted at his regret, of how he missed the world outside the castle walls. It was doubtless they had been treated well, John knew it well himself that their rooms were suitably equipped for men of their status. That they had servants and the right to their own household, even at its reduced size, signalled some form of value to their limited existence. This was not enough to please poor Tom.
Tis the price one pays for youth, with that prize comes impatience and boredom, leaving the child unable to see their own fortune beyond the misfortune of the negative they want to see. The goblet could be half empty Thomas, or it could be half full. Even if it is empty lad, it is not truly, for air does fill where wine should be. He did not say it out loud, in part because he knew naught of how it would sound to immature ears, or how indeed he would take it himself. He feared beyond all hypocrisy. The goblet may be filled with air, t'was no good to the thirsty man.
Only keys and man power would cure their current predicament. Neither of which they had and so it seemed fruitless, a pointless expenditure of precious energy to make attempt to cheer Tom in anyway when it was hard to be cheerful himself. His children played upon his mind, young George, but nine in his years already preparing to take his father's role should he be so unfortunate as to lose his life, a rare though hardly unheard of approach to ridding oneself of ignored prisoners. That was no way for a boy to live out his years, following in the shadow of his father's bloody and untimely demise. As for the girls, whatever would they do, what would they become without a noble and living father to see their dowries paid and betrothals negotiated. Isobel, dear God what would Isabel do without her husband?
Thomas broke the chain of never ending depressing thoughts. He had turned from the window with a nervous look upon his face, his voice was quiet as he spoke, his voice matched his expression. "Who wrote?" Thomas knew he should not ask, for the letter had come for Johnny not him, though he had not been able to help it, when he had seen the seal waxed onto the back of the letter, he could not help but allow himself curiosity. Surely their situation allowed for the collapse of such stupid rules and leniency of the regulated Neville etiquette. Although the expression upon John's face suggest much the opposite.
His resolve broke as he looked to his little brother, looking once again like a boy. Like the child he had been acutely, covertly fond of. Of the child he had not known until the lad had need to prematurely meet a brutal manhood. The boy they all now missed. Aggravated expression for weeks had not left him. Not reduces since the rumours of six month's past, the sacking of Ludlow where men and women and children were tried with equal guilt and punished for their innocence, where presence had meant certain death. These horrific events were undoubtedly now confirmed. It was obvious what Thomas feared, if death had befallen their young cousins no man was safe. No matter how he tried, the truth would not come to Johnny's tongue, it would not leave his mouth as he crumpled the letter in sweaty palms. "Tis from Belle."
"Your wife?" Thomas looked stunned. Had his eyes deceived him? Certainly not, but Johnny's words were adamant, not to be questioned. "No word from our brother, our father?"
"They are in Calais and safe with our noble cousin of March." John tried to hide the irritation from his voice, sometimes the boy was too inquisitive for his own good.
"Alive? They can pay ransom?" Thomas looked hopeful for a moment, put off by his brother's silence. John wished not to break the boys heart by saying a word. "But they will not be coming for us if they are in Calais? Will they return?" John had no time to answer, nor time to think upon an answer as Thomas plunged himself deeper into panic, encouraged by on-going questions. "Dear God they will not, cannot, but what will befall us if they do not?"
"They will come back!" John snapped, himself unwilling to think of the consequences of Thomas's devastating suggestion, for should that happen they were surely doomed. "They will not abandon us, remember our brother Georges teachings and be gentle Thomas. God will not forsake us, for he does love all men and innocents if they have love in him." John laughed as he thought of their brothers teachings. For George had been no more willing to join the church than Lucifer to be an angel. How long before he would be titled Judas? He would not be happy with forced abstinence and celibacy. He was too proud, too much a Neville to not desire a son, an heir. Yet George preached the word if the Lord, believing in it as much as he believed in peace, the bishop of Exeter would be a better soldier than priest, if only their father had seen it perhaps he would be happy in his position. Or perhaps he too would be in this hopeless predicament, praying each morning would come with as much light and life as did the last. "Do you love as you were taught?" Thomas nodded as John reached an orange from the fruit bowl beside their bed. He tossed one to Thomas, the boy missed it, shaking hands reaching for the sphere.
Poor child, his nerves are so taught and he so fearful. He loses hope each second as I lose it by the day. The price of youth, tis dear.
John regretted hiding the true content of the letter from the younger man, hiding it still to protect him from Warwick's cool words. To protect him from festering that lack of trust so set amongst his Neville kindred. Hatred for his family was not what would aid Thomas in his survival.
"Ah Tom lad." John rose, limping as weight found his still tender leg making it shake in objection. Several limping steps took him to the boys side. Thomas resumed his stare out of the thick glass. Ignoring his brothers intimate proximity until his hand touched his hair. "Have my word and take heart, we will be free within the month. Keep faith."
Thomas smiled his heart refusing to believe such words as faith, hope and courage began to fade. The glass reflected: is brothers retreating figure, suddenly aged in the distorted reflection as he limped to the bed.
Little did either man know that as John Neville slipped beneath the coverlets, Thomas assisting to close velvet bed curtains before joining his brother for the precious warmth. In a Calais a plan was to be hatched like no other as men boarded a ship, heading forthwith and with speed to Kent. From there they would march with full glory to London to seize their capital and take control. Upon word from the commons and order of Warwick, they began the move north heading to Northampton.
The Neville brothers would only know when morning came, and they were awoken to a flurry of men readying arms. The doors opened as they were roused. "Come, we make haste for Northampton where York's whelp the Earl of March disturbs his graces peace."
His Lord of March to them meant only one thing. Ahead of hope and luck, instead of war or conflict, the meaning which accompanied the words 'his Lord of March' was Warwick; Warwick is coming - and with that was freedom.
They did not tally to make progress; freedom rarely brings a second chance. Lady fortuna is rarely so obvious John explained to Thomas as though he knew. They did not talk about their fears through their closely monitored, muddy journey to Northampton.
***
Northampton, 1460.
Thomas had fallen silent when the king arrived, following his brothers lead he fell before Henry and begged forgiveness upon his knees. Thomas laughed inside, silent to all. The king it seemed knew nothing of what they were to be forgiven for, else he just forgave everyone anyway. Perhaps it was the second, had Somerset coached the mad king to seem benevolent to all in order to gain favour from his rapidly tiring subjects?
Doubtless really.
They had reached their tent minutes before, finally alone apart from the guards standing tall for if they should plot their escape before negotiations were over. Thomas sat in one of the chairs, cushioning his back after the long ride. He couldn't help but wonder, when he had seen the king, mad king Henry as they called him, he had been far from convinced of the monarchs insanity.
All that had been visible was his clear anxiety, pre-battle nerves. If the evidence around his neck was to be noted, and the tales of St Albans spilled from the tongue of a panic stricken Ned, then it really was no wonder.
He thought of Ned, five years since that day when he had been told about the details of St Albans, Ned, the same petrified child of 1455 was now waging his own war and for what? To defeat an insane king with no glimpse of insanity?
John had told him, they did not fight the king but rather his advisors, his councillors and those who wrongfully controlled his government. Those who should not control his government. Those who should be replaced by others more qualified. Like York. Was York any different to those fools who held that same control now? Hardly. The better question was, if the king was not insane why did he have need for these advisors. He was no longer an infant king.
Johnny had explained, that's where the queen (he had said bitch) comes into it. She wants to be king in her own rights, something that women cannot do. Over ambitious women, that would be the damnation of the country. But then even she, the bitch, witch and she wolf of France had not seemed that bad when he met her in his captivity. She had seemed polite, at a stretch he would have said caring.
"Penny for your thoughts?" John leaned forward, a smile softening hardened features back to their handsome, carved glory. Thomas could not deny, his brother was truly a handsome man. Why Isobel was so besotted with him he did not wonder.
"Just, Johnny I don't understand why we are in all of this. Why can't we just end this war?"
John sighed shaking his head. "Thomas you don't need to wonder about such things-"
"I don't mind-"
"Well I do. You're not to question. It is what it is and it is above you. Beyond your control. Begin a mine and Edward's and even Warwick's. It is York's choice, Somerset, York's and the queens. I know during our time at Chester you began to see as she wanted you to. She does that, engaging in witchcraft to control your mind. You are vulnerable to it. Women's ways."
"Its not that!" His words were cut off by the sounds of trumpets in the not too far distance.
"They're here?"
"Here's to freedom." John rose, ready to join the battle at any time. As it happened there would be no need. The battle lasted but half an hour before in the mist of victory the York Lord's fell before their king and swore fealty. All the while John and Thomas sat in interested silence before the tent was opened.
"Johnny? Tom?" Both men jumped to their feet, Tom greeted his cousin with a running embrace.
"Edward! Jesu, it has been too long!"
"Indeed it has cousin." John was fascinated as their cousin hugged young Thomas back. How could they be so informal. For once he thanked the pain as he paused, watching as his company left. To see Edward coated head to toe in sparkling New armour gave him chance to think. How hard it was to believe that this boy would not be one of this kingdoms great names.
Perhaps he would, there is still time.
I pray God you do get this. Please the Lord prying eyes do not see these words. We are in Calais for Ludlow was seized by Lancastrian tyrants. Send word you are well, Thomas too. Please God you should both alive. York is fled from Ludlow, staying dictated defeat. Rutland and York were to Dublin. March accompanied our Lord father and I to France. I beg you both, do not give up hope. Prey daily to Our Lord God and the Lady Mary the Virgin to save you.
Report nothing to Thomas, I fear for him more than all. He is so young, no more than a child and we put so much upon him. He could not be with a better man than you brother.
With my love brother and my blessing.
E. Warwicke.
How he could not agree with any words more, Thomas was not ready to know the ins and outs or face the ugly consequences of war. However much he thought he wanted to be.
John looked to Thomas as the boy glanced through the thick paned window to the world beyond. The painful expression set permanently upon the boys features hinted at his regret, of how he missed the world outside the castle walls. It was doubtless they had been treated well, John knew it well himself that their rooms were suitably equipped for men of their status. That they had servants and the right to their own household, even at its reduced size, signalled some form of value to their limited existence. This was not enough to please poor Tom.
Tis the price one pays for youth, with that prize comes impatience and boredom, leaving the child unable to see their own fortune beyond the misfortune of the negative they want to see. The goblet could be half empty Thomas, or it could be half full. Even if it is empty lad, it is not truly, for air does fill where wine should be. He did not say it out loud, in part because he knew naught of how it would sound to immature ears, or how indeed he would take it himself. He feared beyond all hypocrisy. The goblet may be filled with air, t'was no good to the thirsty man.
Only keys and man power would cure their current predicament. Neither of which they had and so it seemed fruitless, a pointless expenditure of precious energy to make attempt to cheer Tom in anyway when it was hard to be cheerful himself. His children played upon his mind, young George, but nine in his years already preparing to take his father's role should he be so unfortunate as to lose his life, a rare though hardly unheard of approach to ridding oneself of ignored prisoners. That was no way for a boy to live out his years, following in the shadow of his father's bloody and untimely demise. As for the girls, whatever would they do, what would they become without a noble and living father to see their dowries paid and betrothals negotiated. Isobel, dear God what would Isabel do without her husband?
Thomas broke the chain of never ending depressing thoughts. He had turned from the window with a nervous look upon his face, his voice was quiet as he spoke, his voice matched his expression. "Who wrote?" Thomas knew he should not ask, for the letter had come for Johnny not him, though he had not been able to help it, when he had seen the seal waxed onto the back of the letter, he could not help but allow himself curiosity. Surely their situation allowed for the collapse of such stupid rules and leniency of the regulated Neville etiquette. Although the expression upon John's face suggest much the opposite.
His resolve broke as he looked to his little brother, looking once again like a boy. Like the child he had been acutely, covertly fond of. Of the child he had not known until the lad had need to prematurely meet a brutal manhood. The boy they all now missed. Aggravated expression for weeks had not left him. Not reduces since the rumours of six month's past, the sacking of Ludlow where men and women and children were tried with equal guilt and punished for their innocence, where presence had meant certain death. These horrific events were undoubtedly now confirmed. It was obvious what Thomas feared, if death had befallen their young cousins no man was safe. No matter how he tried, the truth would not come to Johnny's tongue, it would not leave his mouth as he crumpled the letter in sweaty palms. "Tis from Belle."
"Your wife?" Thomas looked stunned. Had his eyes deceived him? Certainly not, but Johnny's words were adamant, not to be questioned. "No word from our brother, our father?"
"They are in Calais and safe with our noble cousin of March." John tried to hide the irritation from his voice, sometimes the boy was too inquisitive for his own good.
"Alive? They can pay ransom?" Thomas looked hopeful for a moment, put off by his brother's silence. John wished not to break the boys heart by saying a word. "But they will not be coming for us if they are in Calais? Will they return?" John had no time to answer, nor time to think upon an answer as Thomas plunged himself deeper into panic, encouraged by on-going questions. "Dear God they will not, cannot, but what will befall us if they do not?"
"They will come back!" John snapped, himself unwilling to think of the consequences of Thomas's devastating suggestion, for should that happen they were surely doomed. "They will not abandon us, remember our brother Georges teachings and be gentle Thomas. God will not forsake us, for he does love all men and innocents if they have love in him." John laughed as he thought of their brothers teachings. For George had been no more willing to join the church than Lucifer to be an angel. How long before he would be titled Judas? He would not be happy with forced abstinence and celibacy. He was too proud, too much a Neville to not desire a son, an heir. Yet George preached the word if the Lord, believing in it as much as he believed in peace, the bishop of Exeter would be a better soldier than priest, if only their father had seen it perhaps he would be happy in his position. Or perhaps he too would be in this hopeless predicament, praying each morning would come with as much light and life as did the last. "Do you love as you were taught?" Thomas nodded as John reached an orange from the fruit bowl beside their bed. He tossed one to Thomas, the boy missed it, shaking hands reaching for the sphere.
Poor child, his nerves are so taught and he so fearful. He loses hope each second as I lose it by the day. The price of youth, tis dear.
John regretted hiding the true content of the letter from the younger man, hiding it still to protect him from Warwick's cool words. To protect him from festering that lack of trust so set amongst his Neville kindred. Hatred for his family was not what would aid Thomas in his survival.
"Ah Tom lad." John rose, limping as weight found his still tender leg making it shake in objection. Several limping steps took him to the boys side. Thomas resumed his stare out of the thick glass. Ignoring his brothers intimate proximity until his hand touched his hair. "Have my word and take heart, we will be free within the month. Keep faith."
Thomas smiled his heart refusing to believe such words as faith, hope and courage began to fade. The glass reflected: is brothers retreating figure, suddenly aged in the distorted reflection as he limped to the bed.
Little did either man know that as John Neville slipped beneath the coverlets, Thomas assisting to close velvet bed curtains before joining his brother for the precious warmth. In a Calais a plan was to be hatched like no other as men boarded a ship, heading forthwith and with speed to Kent. From there they would march with full glory to London to seize their capital and take control. Upon word from the commons and order of Warwick, they began the move north heading to Northampton.
The Neville brothers would only know when morning came, and they were awoken to a flurry of men readying arms. The doors opened as they were roused. "Come, we make haste for Northampton where York's whelp the Earl of March disturbs his graces peace."
His Lord of March to them meant only one thing. Ahead of hope and luck, instead of war or conflict, the meaning which accompanied the words 'his Lord of March' was Warwick; Warwick is coming - and with that was freedom.
They did not tally to make progress; freedom rarely brings a second chance. Lady fortuna is rarely so obvious John explained to Thomas as though he knew. They did not talk about their fears through their closely monitored, muddy journey to Northampton.
***
Northampton, 1460.
Thomas had fallen silent when the king arrived, following his brothers lead he fell before Henry and begged forgiveness upon his knees. Thomas laughed inside, silent to all. The king it seemed knew nothing of what they were to be forgiven for, else he just forgave everyone anyway. Perhaps it was the second, had Somerset coached the mad king to seem benevolent to all in order to gain favour from his rapidly tiring subjects?
Doubtless really.
They had reached their tent minutes before, finally alone apart from the guards standing tall for if they should plot their escape before negotiations were over. Thomas sat in one of the chairs, cushioning his back after the long ride. He couldn't help but wonder, when he had seen the king, mad king Henry as they called him, he had been far from convinced of the monarchs insanity.
All that had been visible was his clear anxiety, pre-battle nerves. If the evidence around his neck was to be noted, and the tales of St Albans spilled from the tongue of a panic stricken Ned, then it really was no wonder.
He thought of Ned, five years since that day when he had been told about the details of St Albans, Ned, the same petrified child of 1455 was now waging his own war and for what? To defeat an insane king with no glimpse of insanity?
John had told him, they did not fight the king but rather his advisors, his councillors and those who wrongfully controlled his government. Those who should not control his government. Those who should be replaced by others more qualified. Like York. Was York any different to those fools who held that same control now? Hardly. The better question was, if the king was not insane why did he have need for these advisors. He was no longer an infant king.
Johnny had explained, that's where the queen (he had said bitch) comes into it. She wants to be king in her own rights, something that women cannot do. Over ambitious women, that would be the damnation of the country. But then even she, the bitch, witch and she wolf of France had not seemed that bad when he met her in his captivity. She had seemed polite, at a stretch he would have said caring.
"Penny for your thoughts?" John leaned forward, a smile softening hardened features back to their handsome, carved glory. Thomas could not deny, his brother was truly a handsome man. Why Isobel was so besotted with him he did not wonder.
"Just, Johnny I don't understand why we are in all of this. Why can't we just end this war?"
John sighed shaking his head. "Thomas you don't need to wonder about such things-"
"I don't mind-"
"Well I do. You're not to question. It is what it is and it is above you. Beyond your control. Begin a mine and Edward's and even Warwick's. It is York's choice, Somerset, York's and the queens. I know during our time at Chester you began to see as she wanted you to. She does that, engaging in witchcraft to control your mind. You are vulnerable to it. Women's ways."
"Its not that!" His words were cut off by the sounds of trumpets in the not too far distance.
"They're here?"
"Here's to freedom." John rose, ready to join the battle at any time. As it happened there would be no need. The battle lasted but half an hour before in the mist of victory the York Lord's fell before their king and swore fealty. All the while John and Thomas sat in interested silence before the tent was opened.
"Johnny? Tom?" Both men jumped to their feet, Tom greeted his cousin with a running embrace.
"Edward! Jesu, it has been too long!"
"Indeed it has cousin." John was fascinated as their cousin hugged young Thomas back. How could they be so informal. For once he thanked the pain as he paused, watching as his company left. To see Edward coated head to toe in sparkling New armour gave him chance to think. How hard it was to believe that this boy would not be one of this kingdoms great names.
Perhaps he would, there is still time.