Sweet Dreams
© Kathy H D Kingsbury, August 11, 2021
King Richard has won the Battle of Bosworth. Now he needs to find himself a queen...
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August 22, 1485
King Richard was victorious! The battle fought on Redemore Plain near Leicester was decisive. Henry Tudor, whose spurious claim to the throne had been based on a bastard line, was dead. No more would the kingdom be threatened by Lancastrian pretenders. There was only one drawback—the king had received a serious wound in the process.
While standing in his stirrups as he led the charge toward Tudor, he had been speared from behind by a pikeman who managed to strike one of the few unprotected parts of his body. The injury caused him to fall from his horse, but even then he continued on foot, fighting as the loss of blood began to weaken him. When he saw his men momentarily falter, he rallied them, accepting another's horse and continuing to press forward. The fighting soon became hand-to-hand, bloody and brutal, but at last victory was achieved.
Once success on the field was assured, the king was quickly bustled off to his tent where his personal physician, Dr. William Hobbes, immediately set to work tending the wound.
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Preparations were quickly made for the return to London, but the king's injury prevented him from riding his horse. Instead, he was forced to travel in a specially outfitted cart that would allow him to lie down and make the journey with as little discomfort as possible. When the time came to leave, Richard insisted on walking the short distance to the cart.
"The last thing I need is for the men to see me being carried. That would surely start rumors flying that I am at death's door."
Hobbes, who had been serving the House of York since the days of the old Duke of York when he had been medicus et sirurgicus to that great worthy, understood the need to squelch any such rumors and agreed. So with his physician on one side, and his life-long friend and closest advisor Lord Lovell on the other, Richard slowly and painfully made his way from tent to cart, acknowledging the men who had gathered around and forcing himself to smile in spite of his wound.
"Where'd they git ya, Yer Grace?" shouted one curious soldier.
Having spent much of his life campaigning with men like these, Richard was very much at ease with their banter and teasing.
"In the bloody arse!" he shouted back.
Laughter rippled through the camp as the king's words were repeated for those who didn't hear them the first time.
"I hope ya gave the bastard what for," said another.
"Aye!" replied the king. "He won't be causing trouble anymore."
This was met with more laughter and cheers.
"When ya git back, mebbe ya can show them fancy lords what din't leave their comfy homes in London yer battle wounds!" said one.
"Aye, an' mebbe ya should have 'em kiss it an' make it better!" said another as laughter filled the air. Soon there was general cheering and choruses of "God save King Richard!" throughout the camp.
In spite of the pain, Richard was enjoying this. These men had fought for him, had been willing to lay down their lives for him, and in addition to their coarse jokes and laughter, he could hear the admiration in their voices as well. He paused before being helped into the cart.
"Lovell, have you any coins on you?"
"Aye."
"Give them to these good men. Don't worry; I'll see that you're paid back."
Lovell chuckled, not worried about being repaid, and tossed the purse into the crowd of cheering soldiers.
"From the king! So you can drink a toast to his good health at the next tavern you visit."
As the cart slowly pulled out of camp, Lovell, who was riding alongside, turned to Richard.
"You realize that by nightfall they'll be toasting the king's royal arse."
Richard, more worn from the short walk than he thought he would be, managed a grin.
"At least they won't be spreading tales that I'm dead."
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Once back at the Palace of Westminster, Hobbes gave strict orders that the king was to have complete bed rest while his body mended.
"For how long?" Richard demanded.
"For as long as it takes," replied Hobbes, who had known the king since he was a scrawny lad and wasn't the least bit intimidated by displays of royal ire.
This did not sit well with Richard, who had always been an active man, but he knew better than to counter the physician's orders. Besides, he was still weak and in pain, so compliance was easier than expected.
For several weeks, he had to deal with not only the constant throbbing of the wound and accompanying fatigue, but with periodic bouts of fever as well. But at last the situation improved and the court was relieved when it became obvious that the king was on the mend. They could tell this was so because his grace was becoming more restless, grumbling and expressing frustration at not being allowed to do anything, and trying to make light of being rendered inactive by what he called an injury to the royal bum.
Noting the king's improvement, Hobbes eventually acquiesced and agreed that his patient could get out of bed but only for short periods of time, and only to engage in light activities such as reading or listening to music...and only if his grace would make sure he was sitting on a well-cushioned seat, as the wound had been deep and had penetrated to the bone.
"Am I allowed to read and sign documents?" Richard asked, daring Hobbes to tell him otherwise.
"But of course, as long as you can do so without running and jumping around."
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Richard knew the governance of the country was in good hands and while he was laid up had delegated his nephew, the Earl of Lincoln, to be his representative at the various council meetings, insisting upon receiving daily reports in the royal bedchamber at the end of each day. Also during this time, while Lincoln and others dealt with the last of the rebels, he saw to it that a proper tomb was begun for his late wife, Anne. And though he missed his wife, who had passed away barely five months ago, he instructed those who had been involved in the marriage negotiations with Portugal to resume the process, because a king without an heir or a queen to give him one remained vulnerable.
The object of these negotiations, Princess Joanna of Portugal, was a direct descendant of John of Gaunt and Blanche of Lancaster, meaning her marriage to Richard would be a true joining of York and Lancaster. It was widely known that she had previously refused several marriage proposals in the most vehement of terms, and had joined a Dominican Convent in Aveiro. But while she had long expressed a desire for the life of a religious, she was not unfamiliar with the duties and obligations of one of her status, and had made periodic returns to the Portuguese court including a time she served as her late father's regent when he retired to a monastery.
But something had changed the princess's mind about marriage, and when Richard's offer was received she surprised her brother, who was now king, by accepting.
And that is how it was that in late October of 1485, Richard, though mostly healed but still walking with a limp, was awaiting the arrival of his bride. He had just passed his 33rd birthday. It was time to start building his legacy and securing the continuance of the Yorkist dynasty.
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While details for the wedding ceremony and related activities were being worked out by representatives of both parties, Richard took advantage of this time to get to know his bride-to-be. It was going to be a sumptuous affair, a double wedding—Richard to Joanna, and Richard's niece Elizabeth to Joanna's cousin Manuel, the Duke of Beja and Viseu—and both sides wanted to make sure there would be no oversights in the etiquettes to be followed.
On one particularly splendid autumn day, Richard and Joanna were strolling through the palace gardens, the lords and ladies of their two entourages walking behind at a respectful distance, but close enough to ensure that all proprieties were observed. Although he hated having to do so, Richard was using a walking stick as he had not fully regained his strength and his hip would ache if he tried to do too much. To ensure the comfort of his princess, he saw to it that they stopped and sat periodically at which time a young page would rush forward with cushions for the king and the princess to sit upon. Richard found the cushions both beneficial and embarrassing, as he felt on his part that using a cushion suggested weakness. (To which he knew Hobbes would reply, "Of course, you're still weak. That wound could have killed you!")
Richard liked walking with Princess Joanna and thought they made an attractive couple, she being about the same height as he with her proud, erect bearing. He admired her chestnut hair with its reddish highlights that caught the sunlight, and found himself drawn to her soulful brown eyes. He was also impressed with her command of the English language.
"I am curious, my lady, as to why after turning down so many offers of marriage, you accepted mine," he asked as they sat enjoying the afternoon sun.
Joanna paused to consider her words, wanting to make sure she expressed herself properly. "It was a dream I had. In it, the Holy Mother came to me and told me that I would better serve her as your queen than I would in a convent. That our union would help to bring peace to your country, and the alliance between England and Portugal would bring prosperity to both."
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It had been a long day of ceremony and feasting, and the newly married couple were finally alone. But the day wasn't quite done. There was one more important matter to attend to – the consummation of the marriage.
Before they retired for the night, the bride's ladies had dressed her in a white nightgown of silk and lace, and had combed her long hair until it shone like a silken waterfall in the candlelight, while the groom's valet had assisted him into a robe of rich brocade before likewise leaving.
Joanna was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking slightly apprehensive as her stomach did little nervous flip-flops. "I am ready," she said shyly.
Richard looked at her, hearing the hesitation in her voice. He walked over to a table where wine and sweetmeats had been left for them. "Do you know what happens next?" he asked.
It had been many years since he'd bedded a virgin. In fact, the only time he could think of had also been his first time, when he and his young partner had fumbled their way through their clumsy first attempts at love making. None of the other women he'd known since had been novices. Even Anne had been previously married and no stranger to the intimate aspects of married life.
He knew that having spent much of her adult life in a convent, Joanna was unlikely to have much, if any, knowledge of what took place in the marriage bed. Gone was the face she presented to the public, the self-assured woman with a pleasing smile. The situation she was facing now was surely something completely alien to her, and he did not want to frighten her. The last thing he wanted was for her to associate the physical aspect of marriage with something unpleasant, and was willing to take his time.
Though she tried to hide it, Richard could see how tense she was. "There's no need for us to rush into this, my beautiful bride. Why don't we have some wine?" He poured them both a cup and sat next to her, handing her one of the cups. "If you don't feel ready for this, we can wait."
Joanna took a sip of wine and felt its soothing warmth spread through her. "No," she said. "I...I can do this, I must do this, otherwise our marriage is not valid. Besides, it is my duty." She spoke so solemnly that it immediately invoked a feeling of protectiveness in her husband.
"I'd like it to be more than just duty," he said, taking hold of her hand. "Did anyone explain what happens between a man and a woman?"
"Yes, my brother's wife told me what to expect. She says that the man...enters the woman, like when a stallion covers a mare when it is in heat."
Richard cringed at such a coarse explanation.
Joanna continued. "She says it is a wife's duty to submit to her husband, even if it is uncomfortable."
Richard tried not to sigh. He knew that conjugal relations were like that in some marriages, but he did not want a wife who merely submitted, but one who shared in the love making. "Is that all you were told? Did no one else give you any...advice?"
Joanna blushed. "My ladies, some of them have told me that with the right man, the experience can be...most pleasurable." She looked at him expectantly. "Is this true?"
He smiled, relieved that there was hope all would turn out well after all. "Yes, it is true. At least it has been in my experience."
"Then you will teach me? Help me learn how to enjoy the act?"
"I shall do my best, my lady. But first, you must relax. You are far too tense, and that will make the experience less pleasant. But before we start, let me ask you—would you prefer we left a few candles lit, or shall I put them all out?"
"Leave just one lit. I would like enough light to see your face when we do this thing."
Richard got up from the bed, taking the empty wine cups with him and setting them on the table before putting out all the candles but one. That one candle combined with the flames in the fireplace bathed the room in a soft, warm glow.
"What happens first?" she asked when he rejoined her. This time she looked less fearful, and more curious.
"We remove our clothes."
"We do this thing...naked?"
"It helps."
"Very well," she shrugged, as if to say, If I must, I must, and started to undo the ties on her nightgown.
"No, let me," said Richard. Very carefully, he undid her ties, gently caressing her as he admired the smoothness of her skin in the soft light. He kissed her tenderly on the shoulder. "Now, it's your turn."
She saw the admiration in Richard's eyes as he looked at her, and felt her confidence grow. "What do I do?"
"Help me untie my robe."
She laughed softly. "You know how to take off your robe," she said. "Why do you need help?"
"Because it's part of the game." He took her hands and directed them to the sash holding the robe in place. "Have you ever seen a man's body before?"
She shook her head, but was no longer afraid. Her husband was being so kind, so gentle, she knew she had nothing to fear. Helping him out of his robe, she took time to look at his body. She reached out and started tracing the scars he bore with her fingertips, then stopped, afraid she might be doing something wrong.
"It's all right. Touching is part of the process."
She continued.
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He eased her onto her back and stretched himself over her. "I'll go slowly," he assured her.
"Yes, because of your wound?" By now there was no fear or hesitation in her voice, only curiosity.
Richard resisted the urge to laugh, but the last thing he wanted to do was to inadvertently insult his bride. After all, she was only thinking of his health and well being. So he simply said words to reassure her. "Trust me, this won't hurt my wound."
"Are you sure?"
He kissed her to prevent her from asking further questions. He was discovering that Joanna was very inquisitive. He took his time kissing her, and could feel her beginning to respond. He nuzzled her neck, worked his way down her shoulders, to her breasts...when she started to giggle.
"Forgive me, my lady, but what have I done to cause you to laugh?"
"Please, my husband. I mean no insult, it's just that...it tickles," she said, grinning. "When you touch me there."
"I'm sorry. It was supposed to make you feel..." he tried to think of the right word "...aroused."
Joanna saw the look of consternation on his face as he made to sit up. "No! I did not mean you should stop. It feels...fun!" She put her arms around his neck and pulled him back down, the look on her face reassuring him.
"Then shall I continue?"
"Yes," she sighed, looking forward to the pleasures to come. "Please do."
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Their love making had reached its conclusion and now Joanna was lying in Richard's arms, smiling and content. He loved the feel of her slender body as it rested against his, loved how she made him feel whole, his injuries forgotten.
"Was it what you expected?" he asked as he stroked her hair. "Did it give you pleasure?"
"I was not sure what to expect. I thought at first it would be something to be endured, and it did hurt a little...but only at first. After that, it felt all glowing and exciting," she said, trying to find the right words to describe the incredible sensations she felt.
"It hurt because it was your first time. The next time, it will be all pleasure but without the pain."
"The next time? When will that be? Can we do it now?"
"Aren't you tired?" Richard asked, taking pleasure in her new-found eagerness.
"Oh, forgive me," she said, taken aback. "I forgot your wound. It must be paining you."
"Believe me, I am feeling no pain from my wound." He pulled her closer to prove his point and kissed her, deeply and passionately. This time, she responded in kind. Already she was learning.
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Nine months later, Queen Joanna was delivered of a healthy, robust son ensuring in her husband's eyes that she could do no wrong.
"The boy's name will be Richard," announced the king. "Not for me but for my father and his father before him, both of whom gave their lives for the House of York."
Later, Joanna pronounced, "And when we are alone, he shall be called Ricardo, for his mother's people."
Richard smiled and said nothing, because in his eyes she could do no wrong.
The End
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