Playing Her Own Card
Disclaimer: I do not own any character in this story.
The night was dark and full of mists; but it did not scare her.
Placing her green cloak on her shoulders, Anne Neville, decided to take the ultimate step: to leave her dungeon.
She was only fifteen, old enough to live on her own; and she was a widow, not an unmarried maiden. So why would she need a guardian?
At first, she thought it was an act of generosity. After all, she was only fourteen when she married Edward of Lancaster under the authority of her own father, Earl of Warwick. She put away all her pride and knelt pitifully before King Edward IV and begged for mercy. All eyes were on her, cold as ice, including those of Isabel's. How could Isabel do this to her? Did she remember how Anne cared for her when she was giving birth on the ship? Perhaps she held her accountable for the death of her son, or perhaps she hated Anne for stealing all the limelight from her. Why should Anne, the younger Neville daughter, be the Princess of Wales?
The King was nice enough; but the Queen was still hostile. After left her kneeling on the ground for some times, the King granted her his pardon and released her to the care of George and Isabel. "Care" was just another prettier version of "watch".
Her maids were nothing more than spies. It did not take her long to realize what they were watching: her belly. Of course, everyone assumed that she and Edward of Lancaster were passionately in love and it was too possible that she was in the early stage of pregnancy. Anne knew she was not pregnant; she and Edward of Lancaster only made love once, on their wedding night. Had they conceived a child that night, then that child would've been born already. But surprisingly, her own body seemed to conspire against her as well. Her menstrual stopped for some reason. The maids probably already reported that to George and Isabel. In turn, they had her activities restricted more than ever. Living in such a life, betrayed by her own sister, Anne Neville only wished for death. She could hardly eat.
But soon the supposed "pregnancy" was proven nothing but a false suspicion – for there was no belly. Anne had absolutely no privacy, not even when she was bathing or changing out of her night shift. It actually worked for her, now the suspicion was debunked, she should've her freedom now. She was a widow, she could choose for her own living under the authority of no man.
For that, she appealed to all individuals who could've helped her, including Queen Elizabeth Woodville. She must've been very desperate to appeal to her. And yet no one spoke for her.
Many nights, Anne would stare out from the window, praying that God would feel her pain and release her. What kind of mortal sin could she have committed to earn such a treatment?
She closed her eyes and the past flashed back in her mind like a nightmare. She used to be Lady Anne Neville, the heiress of Warwick. Her father, Earl of Warwick, known as "Kingmaker", placed Edward of York on the throne and overthrown Lancastrian sleeping king, Henry VI. Since then, the York and the Neville became close allies. She remembered one day, hearing the announcement of the arrival of Richard, the Duke of Gloucester, King Edward IV's youngest brother. He was to live at the MIddleham Castle as her father's mentee. Richard was just so quiet and she was taught to treat him with full respect. She watched, as this young, fragile duke, trained tirelessly on the field. She couldn't help but impressed – could it mean that anything can be accomplished once you set your heart on it?
To her father, the answer is yes. He had his heart set to place one of his daughters on the queen's throne. He rebelled against King Edward IV; married Isabel to George, Duke of Clarence; then turned his loyalty to the Lancastrian sleeping king and married her to his son, Edward of Lancaster. And rest was history. Her father died in battlefield; her mother fled to sanctuary without even thought about her own daughter's safety; her husband Edward was slain on battlefield; her mother-in-law Margaret of Anjou was taken to the tower; and the sleeping king was murdered the first night he was disposed, or so she heard. She shuttered at the thought. One question came to her mind: how long would it be before she was murdered?
Poisoned? Smothered? Strangled?
For George of Clarence, nothing is too much. If he could not be King of England, then he at least could make himself the richest man of England.
Oh God, please.
But God only help those who help themselves.
Anything was better than submit herself to her fate.
She was her father's daughter after all.
She was going to play her own card.
Of all people at the court, there was only one hope: Richard, the Duke of Gloucester.
It was Richard who grew up in her household from childhood; it was Richard who escorted her back to the court; it was Richard who could've been her betrothed had King Edward allowed it.
She heard that the King just made him the Lord of North. Maybe…
With a pen in hand, she wrote a short letter with tears in her eyes and her heart shedding. It was also Richard who killed her father and Edward of Lancaster, or so she heard.
If her father could kneel before Margaret of Anjou for hours to gain her trust and alliance, then she could put down all her pride and beg the Duke of Gloucester.
Remember, she reminded herself, he is not Richard, but the Duke of Gloucester.
Without a word, with her hood over her head, the letter in her pocket, she slipped out of her chamber and quietly slipped out of the castle. It wasn't that hard. No one would even expect that Anne would take this step. Recently, her spirit was low; and she stopped asking Isabel or George about her inheritance. So naturally everyone thought she had submitted to her fate.
No, it was just an act to buy time.
Don't forget, she watched her own father and Margaret of Anjou in action for sometimes.
Without a sound, she disappeared into darkness.
The night was full of mists.
Tired and hungry, Anne searched for one place – Sanctuary.
She was following the footsteps of her mother. Yes, sanctuary, safe haven for women.
But she would not stay her for long. With a few gold coins, she had a messenger deliver her letter to the Duke of Gloucester. The messenger informed her that it may take months for the Duke to respond for the Duke was back in the battlefield to suppress the Scottish rebellion.
Just as she thought, the Duke of Gloucester was no ordinary brother of the King. He was the King's right hand man.
Loyaulte me Lie…
With her letter, he would appeal her case. He would not forsake her.
She settled in the sanctuary for the time being. The priests were kind enough. Her daily routine: eat and pray. She prayed for her freedom, for her inheritance, for her safety, and for him. May he successfully suppress the Scottish Rebellion and come to her, soon.
Days went by, no sign of him.
No message from him.
The days went by slowly, and for Anne, she stopped counting.
But then one day, things were different.
Her menstrual came.
Was it a sign?
That night, when she was praying alone at the chapel, she heard footsteps behind her, approaching her.
"No, thank you father," she replied, thought it was the priest. "I am not cold."
No response. The priest always gave the kindest response.
Anne got up from her knees and turned.
Before her, stood a young man with dark curls and dark eyes. His black cloak hid his shoulders, which were slightly uneven. His face was pale, somewhat fragile. His lips were tight.
It was Richard, the Duke of Gloucester.
She waited for him for too long.
"Gentle Lady Anne," he greeted softly and bowed.
Quietly, Anne approached him and fell on her knees before him.
"Your Grace," she beseeched. "I beseech you to speak for my cause. I am beseeching you, not as Princess of Wales, nor as Lady Anne Neville, but as a poor child whom shared the same roof with you during our childhood. My father took me away from the York cause, but my heart never betrayed the King. I have no allegiance to Lancaster cause. So, please, Your Grace, would you speak to the King and ask him to release me from the custody of Duke of Clarence."
She remained on the ground, waiting for his response.
"Rise," he said. Anne looked up. "Don't put yourself this low. You and I are equal."
Those words surprised her. His equal?
"Your Grace—"
"Richard," he corrected her. "You have appealed to the Queen and her daughter even. You should've appealed to me in the beginning. Had you asked me to speak for your case earlier, you wouldn't even be here."
"I'm only trying to reach the ones who are the closest to the King," she explained.
"Freedom, rank, property –those are not women's matter," he chuckled.
Anne was speechless.
"So, will you speak for my cause?" she asked meekly.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
She didn't know how to respond.
"To speak for your case, you need someone, a man, a close kin, who has close relation to the King. My brother the King holds no grudge against you; he only feared that you might be carrying Lancaster's heir or end up marrying a Lancastrian follower, taking half of Warwick estate with you. As for George, he wants all the Warwick estate to himself. And God forbid, if Isabel dies from childbirth, he could marry you and keep all the Warwick fortunes until you die."
Those were harsh truth.
"I carry no child," she told him harshly. "I never did. And I will never marry George, that traitor."
"He is no longer a traitor," Richard told her, almost icily.
"But I have no male close kin who can speak for me," she laid out the cards. "My father, father-in-law, husband – all died. Even if they were alive, I doubt they would ever speak for my cause. My mother, she abandoned me in the battlefield. My sister, my jailer, is now with George. I don't deserve this."
"It's true. Your closest relations do not walk on this earth or speak for you. But there is someone—someone even better. A husband who will stand for you, a husband who will fight for you, a husband who will be true to you, and a husband who loves you."
Anne turned away, shaking her head. The image of Edward of Lancaster came to her mind.
"Such man doesn't exist," she said bitterly.
"He is before you."
Hearing that, she spun. "Are you asking me to marry you?"
"Will you?" he asked.
Anne took a deep breath.
"My motto, Loyaulte me Lie. What is mine, I will treat with full honor, love and respect," he walked closer to her as he spoke. "We are meant for each other, Anne. Our bodies and souls. I feel what you feel. My heart is above yours." He took her hand and kissed her palm.
"You will get my fortune," Anne was hesitant.
"As I will make you a Royal Duchess, the Duchess of Gloucester. No one in court will dare to look at you as the daughter of traitor again. You will not be treated as outcast. No one will treat me or mine like that, I will not allow it."
Anne was silent.
"And where would you be if you don't marry me? There are many men out there, brutal men, who set their eyes on the Warwick fortune. Even if you are allowed to walk out of the Clarence's estate, you're throwing yourself out there like a fresh meat. There are men who would force to into marriage by any means." He stopped there, and Anne knew what he meant. "I can protect you. Isn't that what you want all along?"
"But marriage…forgive me, I was married once as you know. And it was a nightmare." He must be pleased to hear it, she thought.
"It will be different with me."
"You, who slain my father and my deceased husband?"
"I did not kill your father, Anne," he insisted. "I did not slay your husband either."
"George told me you did."
"George lied. I was not even on the battlefield where they were slain," he looked directly in her eyes, telling her the truth.
"And you love me?" she asked, the second thing she really wanted to know from him.
"I do, perhaps I always have," he replied.
"And yet you have two illegitimate children," she retorted.
"All lords sire bastards, including your late father," he reminded her. "You also bedded another."
Anne had nothing else to say. She knew, from his gestures and tone, he will speak for her cause. But one thing she still wanted to know for sure—does Richard truly love her?
Almost immediately, she forgot her intense circumstances. She began to act like the Lady Anne Neville she once used to be, that youngest daughter of Earl of Warwick, always mischievous, playful, with air of innocence.
She took a seat, like a lady of royalty. And Richard played along.
He knelt in front of her with his hands on sides of her chair. "At your service, my lady."
Anne tried to suppress her laugh. It was just like when they were children.
"Once we're married, I would not like it if you bed any other woman."
"No, no other woman but you shall have a place in my bed."
"My feet hurt, I don't think I can walk out this place."
"Then I will carry you," he replied, laughing.
"I fell from my horse at the battlefield, as you already saw. I fear riding," she said.
"Then I will ride behind you, with my arms protectively around you."
"The Bad Queen said that I cannot bear children."
"I don't mind if we don't, as long as I have you," he told her sincerely.
Now that made Anne laugh, with tears in her eyes.
"I miss our times at Middleham," she confessed, dropping all her acts.
"And we shall have Middleham," Richard stood up. "Edward had made me the Lord of North, and once I appeal your case, our case, we shall have the Middleham Castle. You will be the mistress of the castle; and I will rule the North, like you father did. And our children, they will be happy, running around in the hall. We will arrange good marriage for them. They will be healthy, free from war and exile. And we will be away from the court. Together, we will make our own happiness."
Anne stood and walked closer to him, placing her hands in his.
"What should we do now?" she asked.
"Answer my question first: will you marry me?" His eyes looked into hers.
She nodded. "Yes."
Without a word, he pulled her into his arms and placed his lips on hers. That kiss was actually her first. It was nothing like her interaction with Edward of Lancaster. Immediately she knew that his love for her was true. After he released her from his kiss, he pulled Anne into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, feeling his heart pounding. His heart – loyal and truthful. If his heart weren't true, then never man was true.
Pulling a ring from his hand, Richard took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger.
"Here, wear this ring and with this ring, I vow my love to you." It was no ordinary ring; it bore his symbol, the White Boar. "You shall stay here, no one can force you away from her against your will. Once Edward gave his blessing, I will marry you here, on the spot. And then, I will take you back to our home, Middleham."
Anne nodded.
"Bid your betrothed goodbye," he said, stroking her face.
Anne threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, with passion. Reluctantly, she separated herself from him. Would he come back for her?
"Be brave, my Anne. Remember," he pulled her close and whispered to her, "You're your father's daughter."
With that, he left. For the first time, Anne felt safe and secure. She turned and found that Richard had left his cloak behind. She smiled.
Richard will come back for her, she knew.
She chose to marry him because he loves her.
Because she needs her knight.
Because she wants what's rightfully hers.
Because she's nobody's pawn.
Because she is playing her own card.
She was after all, the Kingmaker's Daughter.
Historical fictions often portray Anne Neville as a victim. Unfortunately during that time period, that was the destined fate for women. And yet, never forget, the wittiest puppeteer never forgets to wear the mask of the puppet.