Disclaimer: Technically, I suppose I shouldn't be writing one, since The White Queen – which, if you don't know, is the book that Philippa Gregory is working on at the moment – hasn't been published yet. Anyway, since I took the idea from Arthur's words in The Constant Princess, I'll write it anyway: I don't own the idea and I don't own anything, least of all Queen Elizabeth Woodville.
A Rose Thorn
Bermondsey Abbey, 1492
I didn't expect any visitors and frankly, I didn't especially long for any. Long gone were the days when every newcomer brought some changes, from minor news to clashes that shook the kingdom or even the whole Europe. Here, in Bermondsey Abbey, nothing ever happens and I think I prefer it this way now, when I can't influence anything or anyone. My royal son in-law and his cold-hearted mother Margaret Beaufort made sure of that.
But the visitor came.
"Madame," Sister Margaret said, softly, "your son, the Marquess of Dorset, has come to see you."
Tom? I immediately felt chilled. He wouldn't have come, if something very seriously hadn't happened – just like Elizabeth, he rarely visits me. All three of us prefer it this way. So, something happened. I especially thought of something bad.
"Invite him in." My voice was just as flat and cold as I wanted it. If I hadn't been able to hide my emotions, I wouldn't have lasted a single year as a Queen, let alone nineteen. If I hadn't managed to look opaque, I would have lost to Richard as soon as he started to make his ambitions clear after Edward's death.
She curtsied and left; a few minutes later, Tom came in and made a bow. "Your Grace," he said, more formally than he had ever behaved in the court, when Edward was alive and my might was in full vigour.
The nun who had accompanied him curtsied again and left. I had no doubt that she would put her ear on the door as soon as she closed it. She's Henry's spy, you see – as if I could do something worth spying! I am an aging, ailing woman, a queen stripped of her power and banished from the court, that's the truth. I am glad that Henry still fears me, though. I hope my suspected disloyalty deprives him – or even better, Margaret – from sleep.
When we were alone, Tom came close and took my hand to kiss it. I looked at him, waiting to hear what he had come to tell me. Meanwhile, I offered him wine and fruits from the platter on the table. He accepted the wine.
Again, I looked at him and I didn't like what I saw. Oh he was as handsome as ever – in fact, he was the spitting image of my brother Anthony, a resemblance that had once brought me joy, for I have always enjoyed the fact that my children were blessed with good looks, unlike most children of the English nobility, who are generally unattractive, pale, and physically weak, - but now only saddened me. No, it was something in his expression that reminded me of the times when our schemes failed within Edward's court – the same expression that he bore, when we realized that we were losing our positions, our honour and in all possibility, we would lose even our lives to Richard, damnation take him!
Yet, it couldn't be so awful, because he would have told me all at once. So I asked, "I trust everyone was well when you left London?"
He looked at me over his glass. "Yes, everyone is well," he said. "I am bringing you the love of your beloved daughter, the Queen. She was very concerned with the rumours of your illness." He looked at me inquisitively.
"I am well," I said curtly. You should know better than to expect of me to reveal a weakness, Tom.
He nodded and I could see that he did not believe me. "Her Grace will be pleased to hear it," he said.
It was strange to sit here with him, but it didn't feel awkward. When I come to think of it, out of all my children, Tom is the one who has always been closest to me. It's only natural, I suppose – he was born long before I became Queen and he's always been my ally at this awful, ungrateful court who now pretends that I never existed.
Well, that's not entirely true, of course – when I married Edward, Tom was still too young to be my ally, although I did everything I could to provide for him and his brother. The first step was a pre-contracted marriage a rich heiress. I must admit that I could never provide so well for my sons, if Edward hadn't been so agreeable. Oh he had his failures as husband, his whores being a source of never ending irritation for me, but he never failed in benefiting my family. I do not flatter myself with the thought that he did it out of love for me – he wanted to undermine the influence of the noble families, Warwick's mainly, by creating a new nobility that would be loyal to him alone. And the marriages of my siblings gave him the perfect way to do it. And still, I know that he truly liked my brother Anthony and he was quite fond of the boys, so I could provide for them. I know what they say of us, the Woodvilles – that we benefited unjustly, that we were greedy vipers, who tore England apart. Warwick and Richard started these rumours and God knows that my son in-law makes a good use of them. I can only laugh at this. We were greedy, yes. We were ambitious and scheming, yes. But benefiting unjustly? Oh please! My father served Edward loyally and well, as did my beloved brother Anthony, as a diplomat, as a warrior, as a governor to my son Edward, the Prince of Wales. Once he grew up, Tom accompanied Edward during his French campaign and carried out different missions for him. And what about me? Besides doing all the charities that a Queen is due to, I spent years and years in constant pregnancies. Month after month – ninety in common – I lost my figure, I could hardly move, I felt heavy and queasy and to top it all, I had to watch Edward lavish attention upon his mistresses – the man was unable to live through even one of my pregnancies, even one, without finding a new whore. I became reconciled with it and continued producing heirs for the Yorkist throne. We all worked, damn it!
"How is your wife?" I asked, shaking my memories off.
"She's well," Tom said.
"And the children?"
"You aren't going to turn into a doting grandmother, are you?" he asked and almost smiled. "It doesn't fit you."
I felt the sudden, long forgotten desire to test my wits. "You should know what fits me. We have the same blood running in our veins."
"And the same poison," he elaborated, but quite softly. Once, he wouldn't have been so discreet, but after Richard made his ridiculous proclamation that I have ensnared Edward into marrying me with witchcraft, we had to be careful about what we say. I really don't think that Henry will want to humiliate his wife's family publicly, but who knows? Life has taught me to always expect the unexpected.
"So, how is young Thomas?" I asked. Out of all my grandchildren, I have a special fondness for this one, maybe because of his resemblance to my late son, Richard Grey. I am quite surprised by that, because I could never be called a doting mother, but then, I was trying to bring up men, not some pale flowers that would break at the first blow of the wind.
Not that it changed anything, of course. For all my strict instructions in toughness and perfidy, three of my sons are dead and the fourth one, the one who survived, was worried, although he still hadn't told me the reason.
"Thomas is well. He's getting accustomed to the court." Tom suddenly smiled. "He's fascinated by the tales for Edward. I think he idolizes him. I don't know where this idea came to him – "
"It came from you," I interrupted him. "You have always been always fascinated with Edward." And God knows that my late husband had the gift to bind boys' loyalties to him. I don't mean my sons by my first marriage alone. Even Richard, that goddamned usurper, was always loyal to him. He was a good brother to him. Yes, I truly believe that he was. We would have known, if he had pretended – and we would have taken care of him. But he was a good brother and that enabled him to land the crushing blow on us.
Tom didn't answer immediately. When he finally looked at me, his face was serious again. "There is another rebellion," he said suddenly. "Led by another pretender, who claims to be Richard, Duke of York."
My heart leapt with sudden hope. Was it possible - ? No, of course not. Richard wouldn't have been so negligent as to let one of my sons to leave England alive. I certainly wouldn't have been so negligent in Richard's place and no matter what I think of the man, he proved himself to be a worthy rival.
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A. N. I think of writing another, final chapter to this story. Do you think it's worth the effort?
eHis
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