Ma Mere
© Kathy H D Kingsbury, August 18, 2021
This story takes place in the same alternate universe as "Sweet Dreams" but it didn't fit in with what I had in mind for the original story, so I've written it up as a separate piece. It is the first few days after Bosworth. While recovering from his wound, Richard gets an unexpected visit—from his mother. A bit of feel good fluff...
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Late August 1485
Richard had been back at the capital for a week now, and if he were going to be honest, he would say he felt like hell. The problem was that he had too much time on his hands. It didn't matter that Lord Lovell came daily to fill him in on what was happening in and around the palace, and saw to it that musicians and singers and other entertainments were provided. It didn't matter that his nephew Lincoln came every evening to give reports from his meetings with this lord or that council. It didn't matter that his physician, Hobbes, checked on him twice a day – once in the morning, and again in the evening.
The simple fact of the matter was that he was used to being active, and between the pain and the inactivity, he had too much time to dwell on his own thoughts, and that was making him morose.
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"How are we feeling this morning, Your Grace?" asked Hobbes, his voice cheery and bright.
"We feel lousy," snapped Richard. He was not looking forward to what Hobbes was about to do as it always left him feeling worse rather than better. Hobbes knew that cleansing a wound and applying a fresh poultice could be unpleasant and often painful, and repeatedly offered the injured monarch something to help dull the pain, but Richard complained that the medicine left him feeling fuzzy headed and declined. Suit yourself, he'd heard Hobbes mutter more than once.
"Well, feeling lousy is to be expected and better than the other option," replied the surgeon nonchalantly as he began to set out his instruments.
Richard took one look at the them and turned his head, as they reminded him too much of instruments of torture. "Is that all you have to say?"
"Would you rather I said you are being sullen and ill-tempered, but I'm overlooking that because you're the king?"
Richard just grunted and studied the pattern on the bed drapes while Hobbes set to work. "Ouch!" he shouted. "Dammit man, that hurts!"
Hobbes gave him a stern look. "You handled your injury with much more stoicism when you were on the battlefield."
Richard had no response and so shut up and scowled.
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"Duchess Cecily, what a pleasant surprise," said Hobbes. He had heard that the duchess had unexpectedly arrived at the palace and was not all that surprised to find she had tracked him down to his private chambers. He had no doubt she was here about her son.
She gave Hobbes a small, quick smile. She had known him from back when he had been her husband's medicus, while Hobbes thought that for a woman of 70 years, she was still attractive with a mind as sharp and alert as someone half her age.
"We can skip the pleasantries, Hobbes," she said, helping herself to one of the chairs. "Tell me how my son is doing."
"Please be assured that there is no reason to doubt he will make a full recovery, barring any unforeseen complications."
"Always a caveat," she said.
"But of course," he acknowledged. "However, the wound is deep and complete healing will take many weeks."
"Where is he? I would like to see him."
No change in the grand lady, he thought. She's just as she's always been—no nonsense, quick and to the point. "In his bed. The injury was inflicted upon a delicate part of the body and is causing much discomfort which, in turn, is keeping him awake at night. I've tried to get him to take something for the pain, but if I may say so, his grace can be quite stubborn."
"Tell me about it," she said. "In that, he is just like his father."
Hobbes smiled fondly, remembering the old duke. "But last night, I was finally able to get him to take a sleeping draught. I made sure it was extra strong."
"So you're telling me he's still sleeping?" He nodded, and she got up, heading for the door. "Then unless there's some medical objection, I'll sit with him until he wakes up."
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Cecily was sitting at her son's bedside, periodically reading from her breviary while he slept, lying on his side with his face toward her. Looking at her son, she could not help but notice how much he looked like his father at the same age. A wistful look broke across her face. Not only could he sometimes act like his father, but now he looked like him. She gazed over at the window for several minutes, watching the antics of the sparrows that were hopping about on the sill as she remembered long-ago days, and let out a small sigh. After 25 years, she still missed her husband.
She looked back at her son and noticing a stray lock of hair, brushed it gently from his face. He made a small noise in response. Had she woke him up? But no, he must have been dreaming, as he remained sleeping. Then his eyelids fluttered and he looked up, surprised to see her.
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"Ma mere?" He blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from his mind. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?" He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but Cecily gently but firmly held him back.
"No, don't try to sit up. At least not just yet. As to why I'm here? My only living son is injured in battle, and you ask what I am doing here? I'm your mother. I'm concerned."
"That's very kind of you, ma mere." It was also very unlike her to make the trip to Westminster. At her age, she usually preferred to remain at her estates at Berkhamsted. Was it possible he was worse off than he realized? He didn't think so, but no matter, it was nice to see her here.
"Is there something wrong, my son? You look...puzzled."
"No, it's just that I wasn't expecting to see you."
"That is my fault. I should come to court more often."
"You know you are always welcome." He wasn't sure how much she knew about his injury, and so asked, "Have you talked to Hobbes? You know, about my situation."
"We spoke briefly, but apparently he preferred I ask you about the details."
"You mean, you haven't been filled in on what happened?"
"Hobbes said you were injured in, as he called it, a delicate part of your body. I also heard some silliness about you being struck on your...posterior."
He winced as he shifted his body a bit to make himself more comfortable. "I fear it isn't silliness, and I assure you that while it doesn't sound very heroic, it is extremely painful."
Cecily's curiosity was piqued. "May I ask how it happened? I know you weren't showing your back to the enemy."
Richard gave a disdainful snort. "Not likely!"
"Then what happened?"
So he explained how, during the charge, he'd stood in his stirrups as he was bearing down on Tudor when a pikeman got him from behind.
She made a scornful noise. "A cowardly act. I trust the culprit will not be repeating such a thing in the future?"
"Not to worry. My men took care of the scoundrel. Now tell me, how long are you staying?"
"As long as necessary."
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The Dowager Duchess of York remained at Westminster for the next few weeks, not willing to return to Berkhamsted until she knew her son was well and truly on the mend. She immediately saw that he was suffering not only from a painful injury, but from boredom, and during her stay did her best to keep him entertained. Afternoons were filled with board games (alquerques, backgammon, and his favorite, chess) and card games (Richard particularly enjoyed Piquet and All Fours), as well as reading and music. Often Lovell and Lincoln would join them, making for an agreeable family atmosphere.
Halfway through the second week, Hobbes gave his permission for his grace to sit up in bed, as long as he was very careful how he sat and was propped up with enough pillows to make him feel like he was floating on a cloud. This made playing the games easier, with a table brought over to the bedside.
It was during one of their chess games that the subject of marriage came up. Richard was considering his next move during one of their matches when out of the blue his mother asked, "Have you thought about a wife? I know Anne has been dead barely six months, but a king needs a queen, he needs an heir."
He frowned at the interruption. "Ma mere, are you deliberately trying to distract me?"
The expression she gave him was one of pure innocence, but Richard knew better. He remembered only too well what good a player she was, and that one of her strategies was to talk during matches. It was her way of throwing her opponent off his game, and in this instance it was working. He could try ignoring the question, but she would only persist. Better to simply answer and get back to the game.
"I have my people negotiating a marriage to Princess Joanna of Portugal. It will be a double marriage—me to the princess, and your granddaughter Elizabeth to the Duke of Beja."
He was debating whether to move his bishop or one of his knights, but his mother's question had proved enough of a distraction that when he made his move, he failed to see the opening it created, and when he did see it, he realized he had fallen into his mother's trap. He swore under his breath.
Cecily indicated approval, both of the marriage and of the opportunity her son had just given her. "Yes, good blood lines and descended from Lancaster. The perfect choice to unite our feuding houses, except...isn't she a bit old?" The duchess smiled to herself and made her move. "Check."
Richard frowned. His king was in serious trouble. He spent several minutes studying the board, trying to figure out if he could extricate himself. "She's the same age as I am, or nearly so. I believe she was born in February, while I was born in October, so she isn't too old for marriage and child bearing." He made another move, but knew it was too little, too late.
"Be sure she is properly examined by a qualified physician to assure you of this." It was Cecily's move. She grinned. "Checkmate!"
Richard managed a small laugh and had the board set aside for now. "I need to stop letting you distract me."
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It was mid-September. There was a touch of fall in the air bringing a slight chill to the rooms. Today was Cecily's last day at the palace until the wedding, which she promised to attend. It was a quiet evening, and after enjoying a good supper the two of them were sitting by the massive fireplace in the royal bedchamber, enjoying its warmth.
"I'll be leaving in the morning," she said. "I am satisfied with your progress and am confident that you will continue to improve, and soon will be back to your old self."
"I'll be glad to shake off this idleness. At least for now I have some documents to read and sign," he said, indicating the pile of papers on the desk. "Who knows, maybe I'll even get dressed one day this week, a change from wearing a bed gown and robe." He gave his mother a crooked smile. Yes, his mood had definitely improved from when she'd first arrived.
They enjoyed a few quiet moments, then Cecily said, "Richard, may I say something to you in all seriousness? As you know, I have never been one given to excessive displays of emotion. I've been called cold-hearted, haughty, too proud for my own good, but the truth is that I'm a mother who loves her children. And if I haven't told you that as often as I should, then I am heartily sorry."
Richard was touched. "It's all right, ma mere. I understand. I've always understood."
"I thank you, my son. I just wanted you to know."
"And just so you know, I love you too, ma mere."
There was a slight awkward silence between them before Cecily continued. "Now then, before we get too maudlin—are you ready for bed? I know I am, and I can see you're having trouble keeping your eyes open."
Richard agreed that he was tiring, and allowed his mother to help him to his bed. She set about making sure his pillows were plumped, and bending over, gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Just don't expect this of me every time I visit," she said with a smile. "Now get some sleep."
Though he had disliked the bed rest that his injury had imposed upon him, and was thrilled to at last be well enough to resume at least some of his duties, it had been nice for a few weeks to have his mother around, looking after him the way she had when he was a little boy.
"Yes, ma mere."
The End