How Margaret Beaufort Helped
Avert the Battle of Bosworth
(Or, Sometimes a girl just wants to have fun)
© Kathy H D Kingsbury, Revised August 24-25, 2021
In an alternate universe, Richard III didn't have to fight the Battle of Bosworth.
And who helped with this? Why, Margaret Beaufort, Lady Stanley.
Part 1 in a three part series I call The Tudor Chronicles.
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Early summer of 1485
It was well past mid-morning by the time Lord Francis Lovell entered King Richard's private chambers. For the past three nights, the king had retired to his bedchamber early, not allowing even his closest servants other than his Lord Chamberlain to accompany him, and wouldn't emerge until noon or later the next day. Some at court wondered if he were ill, but Lovell assured everyone that the king was not ill, only working very late. Rumors of an invasion were rife, and Lovell was the only person who knew what the king was really up to.
At the sound of the other man's entry, Richard stretched and stumbled out of bed, quickly throwing on the wrinkled nightshirt that was on the floor. Lovell grabbed a fur-trimmed robe laying across one of the chairs and helped his friend into it. He noted the tired look on king's face, but in spite of the circles under his usually bright blue eyes there was also a sparkle to them.
"My God, Richard, you look like hell." Since they were alone, there was no formality between them, just a deep friendship that came from years of dealing with life's ups and downs together.
Richard rolled his eyes as he took a seat at the table where a short while ago, pages had laid out a robust breakfast before exiting as quickly and quietly as they came. "The woman is insatiable!" he said, rubbing his hands together as he looked over the assortment of dishes. "She's not satisfied with just once or twice. The last three nights, every time we've finished and I'm falling asleep, she wakes me, ready to go at it again."
He noticed Lovell was still standing. "Have you broken your fast? Sit down and help me finish this off." Richard was lifting covers off the various platters, pausing when he'd spot a particular delicacy that he liked, of which there were several as his sweet tooth was well known in the kitchen. "Well, if you're not going to eat, I am. I'm famished." He piled his plate high and dug into the small feast in front of him with gusto, washing it all down with ale.
Lovell grinned as he took a seat opposite his friend and king. "Sounds like you need to keep up your strength." A small chuckle escaped his lips. "I guess there's something to be said for bedding an older woman." At this they both laughed.
Richard paused then, serious for a moment. "She's not that much older."
"I'd say ten years is older..."
"That means she's only 43. Not like she's an old hag."
Lovell's eyebrows shot up, surprised by Richard's comment. "Are we defending her now?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "But seriously," he continued, "how are things coming along?"
"I think I'm close to a breakthrough. Maybe one more night...and bye-bye to the Tudor threat."
"You think she's actually going to tell you what you want to know?"
Richard waggled his eyebrows and flashed a wolfish grin. "By the time this is all over, she'll be like putty in my hands."
The remnants of their breakfast had been cleared away and conversation had drifted to more general topics when the door burst open and in waltzed Margaret Beaufort, Lady Stanley, her hair down, cooing like a maid in the throes of her first crush. Not for the first time did Richard become conscious of the fact that Margaret was not a bad looking woman. In fact, he thought her rather attractive...and when she smiled? Her face would light up and she would be almost lovely.
Too bad she spends so much of her time being so serious, Richard thought. Maybe if she let loose and enjoyed life a little more.
In one hand she was holding what looked to be a packet of letters. "Ooh, Dickie! My Yorkshire stallion!" she gushed, rushing to his side and placing a proprietary arm around him. "I'm so glad I've caught up with you before you're off to do whatever it is a king does during the day." She flashed him a seductive look, then noticed Lovell. "You. You can go now," she said imperiously, making a shooing motion with her free hand.
"That's my Lord Chamberlain you are speaking to so disparagingly," Richard said, not in an angry tone but more like that of an indulgent lover.
Margaret smiled sweetly and planted a kiss on Richard's cheek. "Very well." She turned back to Lovell. "You may go now, Lord Lovell. Please. I have business to discuss with His Grace."
Lovell fought to keep a straight face and took his leave. Time for the king to do what he must do.
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"Let's not play games, Dickie. This is what you want." Margaret put on the table what were actually several packets of letters. "When you invited me here we both knew this was never going to be more than a brief fling between the two of us. The truth is you want my cooperation, and me? I want to enjoy myself for the first time in my life. Up until now, I've always done what was expected of me, done my duty to family."
Richard nodded, understanding only too well about familial duty. "But now?"
"Let's just say that no matter your reasons for asking me here, you've done nothing but treat me with respect." She bestowed a radiant smile upon him. "Besides, you're not such a bad fellow."
"And you are very gracious, my lady," Richard reciprocated.
Margaret turned serious and took the chair across from him where Lovell had previously been sitting. "So let's get down to business. These letters," she pointed to the packets, "will tell you all you need to know about the invasion plans. These are from Bishop Morton," she pushed one set of letters forward. "These from my husband Thomas, from my husband's brother William, from my son's Uncle Jasper," she continued, pointing to each corresponding group of letters. "And these are correspondence between me and Henry."
"You've had these with you all the time?" asked, impressed that she had managed to keep them hidden within plain sight at the palace.
"I never go anywhere without them."
That made sense, thought Richard. The last thing he would ever do is leave incriminating documents where they could be found by prying eyes. "You understand what this means?" The light banter was gone; now he was a king looking for a way to protect his kingdom. "Especially when it comes to your son?"
Margaret sighed. "Yes, I do." She took a deep breath before continuing. "The simple fact is, I'm tired of the cocky little shit always taking me for granted. It's time for him to grow up. These letters will tell you who is involved in the conspiracy—the big fish and the little—as well as details for when and where the invasion is planned. All I ask is one thing."
"Go on."
"Don't harm my son. He's a stinker. He never remembers my birthday, he sends no presents at Christmas, and the only letters I get from him are when he wants something. It's gimme, gimme, gimme all the time. But he is my only child. Arrest him if you must, but please, spare his life."
"I can't make any guarantees if there's a battle, but if we get to him before any fighting erupts I'll see to it that he is treated decently."
"Maybe you can lock him up in a monastery somewhere up north. You know, one of those where the monks all take a vow of silence. Might teach him a thing or two."
"Interesting idea. But what about the others?"
She shrugged indifferently. "Do what needs to be done." She saw the look of surprise on Richard's face. "Look, the only reason Thomas Stanley married me was because of what I brought to table. We…tolerate each other. There's no love, no passion. I don't wish him ill, but neither will I protest if he were to be found guilty of treason."
"And the rest?"
"Morton's a pig, a pathetic excuse for a man of the Church. Jasper's out for himself, eager for his nephew to be king so he can call in all those favors he's done for Henry over the years. William Stanley is his brother's man, two peas in a pod, content to play their fence-sitting game and not committing until after they know the outcome. Not a one of them has ever cared about me and what I wanted; only what I could give them."
"What about you? What do you want out of all of this?"
"We've had fun these last few nights, haven't we, my Yorkshire stud?"
Richard couldn't resist smiling. He'd been called a lot of names over the years, but a stud? He rather liked that. "Yes, we have."
"And that's all I ever wanted. Some fun. One last fling before I retire from public life. I never had any illusions that this was going to be something serious between us. Just two adults taking a break from our duties."
"You know, Margaret, you're quite a woman. You would have made quite a queen."
"And you, Dickie, are quite a man. And I know you're going to make quite a king." There it was again, that smile that made her almost beautiful. "But now I'm ready to withdraw from all the turmoil and commotion of court life. You ask what I want out of this? I want to retire to a religious house and be an abbess."
Not what Richard expected, but something he could easily arrange. "Just name which one and you'll be Mother Margaret before you know it. Or do you want to found your own?"
She mentioned several places she was interested in. Richard made some notes, said he would get to work on this right away and let her know as soon as the necessary arrangements were made.
Margaret got to her feet, their conversation over. "Now I think it's time we said good-bye, Dickie."
Richard likewise rose to his feet, walked over to her, and took her hands in his. "Good-bye, Margaret," he said, kissing her gently on the lips. "And . . . thank you. For everything."
As she headed for the door, she turned back one last time. "I suppose you'll want to see Lovell now. I'm sure the two of you have a lot of plans to make."
The End