Redemption, a shakespeare fanfic

Redemption

In the year 1490 in an alternate universe, Richard III, thought to have died in the Battle of Bosworth, is very much alive and has returned to reclaim his throne. Sir William Stanley, whose betrayal turned the tide in favor of Tudor in 1485, has long regretted what happened that day and yearns for the opportunity to redeem his honor.

-0-0-0-

England
Summer of 1490

There would be a battle soon. At some point in the coming days, a Yorkist army under Richard Plantagenet–who had formerly reigned as King Richard III–would fight that of the usurper, Henry Tudor, calling himself King Henry VII. The return to England had been a long, hard journey, but Richard believed that with God and Right on his side, he would prevail.

Five years ago, he woke up in a monastery after being severely wounded in a battle fought near a market town called Bosworth, and it was while in the care of the good brothers there the realization struck him that he now had nothing. He had lost everything–family, close friends, lands, titles, his good name. He no personal possessions whatsoever other than the clothes he'd been wearing when brought to the monastery, and those had been little more than blood-stained rags by that point. There was even a short time when he began to question his faith in God.

After spending several months with the brothers recovering from his wounds and having heartfelt talks with the prior, Richard was encouraged to go on pilgrimage and make the arduous journey and to the Holy Land. There he went to Bethlehem and prayed at the Church of the Nativity. In Jerusalem, he walked the Via Dolorosa and humbled himself and bared his heart to God at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Feeling renewed both in body and spirit, he left the Holy Land but instead of returning to England— because what was there for him other than the prospect of a traitor's death?—he headed to Hungary.

On his travels, Richard had heard of the Black Army of King Matthias Corvinus, a professional standing army, something that would have been unheard of back in England. The Black Army was made up of well-paid mercenaries, and their purpose was to protect Hungary which meant much of their fighting would be against the Ottoman. Calling himself simply Richard of England, he enlisted. There, his fighting skills and military planning soon brought him to the attention of his commanders. This in turn led to a not-so-chance meeting with King Matthias himself, who often traveled with his army.

The Hungarian king had discovered who this Richard of England really was, thanks to a Silesian traveler named Nicolas von Poppelau who had stopped off in Hungary on his way to Moscow. Von Poppelau recognized Richard from his visit to England in 1484, and brought this piece of information to the king of Hungary's attention. At their only meeting, Mathias encouraged Richard, one king to another, to return home and reclaim his birthright, presenting him with a gift—a book from Corvinus's famous library—as well as more than enough money to see Richard home.

So he made his way back to England via Burgundy, where he surprised his sister Margaret, the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, with his return from the dead. She helped Richard reconnect with those who had remained loyal to the Yorkist cause and had been in touch with her. Thanks to her, he had been able to come home with both money and men.

After an absence of nearly five years, Richard happily discovered that several close companions who he thought dead were in fact alive. These men, some paying lip service to Tudor while plotting behind his back, some living in exile, and others attainted and living the hardscrabble life of an outlaw, had been secretly plotting to oust Tudor. Their original plan had been to put Richard's nephew and heir, John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln on the throne. Once they learned Richard was alive, plans immediately changed to back Richard. Even Lincoln was thrilled to learn of his uncle's survival after all this time and happily gave up his claim to join in Richard's fight.

There had been other surprises for Richard upon his return as well; good surprises that showed him God had indeed been merciful in spite of the hardships which had befallen him, including the discovery that his base-born children were still alive.

His son John had managed to elude Tudor's people. Believing like the rest of the country that his father was dead, he had changed his name, settled in a small village, married, and had been living a quiet life. Once he learned his father was alive and back in England, he immediately made his way to join the growing Yorkist army. He was a man now, and no one was going to keep him from fighting at his father's side.

Sadder, though, was the news that his daughter Katherine had been banished to a convent by her husband, William Herbert. After Bosworth, Herbet had wanted to rid himself of his Yorkist wife. He had begun proceedings to get an annulment and marry a woman with better connections to the new regime, but the annulment never went through as Herbert was one of many who succumbed to the sweating sickness that came to England on the heels of Tudor's invasion. Katherine, however, had chosen to remain at the convent and let it be known that for now she preferred to stay there. Whether it was because she had chosen the life of a religious or because of the uncertainty of the situation, her father did not know. Whichever it was, Richard acquiesced to his daughter's wishes. There would be time to work this out later, when he'd won back his throne.

But of all those who greeted him upon his return, Richard was happiest to see his life-long friend, Francis Lovell. Attainted as a traitor, his lands and titles stripped from him, Francis had never wavered in his loyalty first to Richard's memory, and now to Richard himself.

One of the things he learned when he came home was that while certain nobles had not supported him when invasion came, the common folk had loved him and still remembered him as Good King Richard. When they learned that Richard still lived, these people came out in droves, ready to fight for their king and swelling the ranks of his army.

The events of the past five years had changed Richard. No more would he try to buy the loyalty of undeserving nobles by bestowing honors and titles; instead, it would be up to those nobles to earn Richard's loyalty. The recent past had been filled with learning experiences, teaching him to be less dependent on others and more self reliant, helping him to better judge who he should trust and who he should keep on a short leash.

Looking back, Richard believed that God had been testing him, making him stronger by having him scratch and claw his way back. He could have remained an exile, living a quiet life, but that would have wasted the lessons he had learned, and besides, it wasn't the life for him.

And that is how it was that tonight, he found himself sitting in a tent, studying a map, trying to work out how best to make the most of what troops he had, and the topography of the land. Tudor's army was gathering, and he needed to be ready to meet it.

-0-0-0-

"May I come in?" It was Francis Lovell.

Richard looked up and smiled at his old friend. "Looks like you already have. Would you like something to drink? I have a little bit of this Rhenish wine left."

"I thank you, but no. Richard, I have a favor to ask of you." He was the only one allowed to call the king by his given name, and was permitted to do so even in public.

"And what might that be?"

"There's someone who desires to speak to you, someone you probably don't want to see."

Richard's curiosity was piqued. "And who might this be?"

"Sir William Stanley."

Richard's fist came down hard on the table, causing his goblet to topple. "Never! What's he done, come to you, playing upon your sympathies because he was once married to your mother?"

"I thought the same thing, but after hearing what he had to say I'm apt to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"And what does he want?"

Francis hesitated. "I think it best he tell you himself. Will you agree to see him?"

Richard got up and paced. "If it were anyone else asking this of me, I'd tell them to go straight to hell. But since it's you, and I trust you implicitly, I'll hear the man out. When does he want to meet?"

"How about now?"

This stunned Richard. "You mean…he's here?"

Lovell nodded.

Richard exhaled loudly. "Very well, then. Might as well get this over with."

-0-0-0-

Sir William Stanley entered the tent, accompanied only by Francis Lovell, although there were armed guards standing just outside should they be needed. Stanley immediately knelt and made his obeisance to the man who had once been his king.

Richard said nothing at first, but only glared. This was the man who cost him the Battle of Bosworth, who had nearly cost him his life. When finally he spoke, it wasn't words of friendship.

"I should kill you here and now."

Stanley remained kneeling, and bowed his head in submission. "And you would be perfectly within your rights to do so."

"Then tell me, why shouldn't I do so?"

"Because…because I can help you. I want to help you…if you will let me. Please." He looked up, imploring. "Hear me out. If, when I've finished, you still want my head, I won't fight you. I'll put it willingly on the block, here and now."

Richard looked at Sir William, trying to assess the man. There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, but others had sounded equally sincere in the past. "What kind of help are you offering?"

"My service. My men. Henry Tudor's battle plans. Where his army is heading, who's fighting for him, where they intend to lure you, to trap you…"

"You mean you've turned coat once before and now plan on doing so again?"

"No. You don't understand. It had never been my intention to betray you. My men and I were riding to join your attack against Tudor…but there was a horrible misunderstanding. Some of your men thought mine were attacking them. Naturally, mine fought back…and…and things spiraled out of control. By the time I was able to get things back to some semblance of order, the news was spreading that you'd been slain…and there was nothing I could do at that point. So I lied to Henry Tudor. I said that attacking your flank had been my plan all along, even though it wasn't. And I've been living with that lie ever since, hating myself, hating what I'd done. My brother may have been secretly harboring support for his step-son for a long time, but I never did. You know I was always loyal to your brother, to you, to the House of York. You rewarded me generously. I had no reason to betray you…"

Richard listened without saying anything, recollecting that day, the charge. He, too, remembered seeing William Stanley's men riding toward him, thinking briefly that they were coming to join the charge. Yes, it could have happened that way, and he found himself wondering if this, too, was part of God's greater plan for him, to receive aid from the man who betrayed him. To give this man a chance to redeem himself.

"Tudor certainly rewarded you well enough for your…accident. Lord Chamberlain, Chamberlain of the Exchequer. Do you mean to tell me that your conscience won't allow you to live with such favors?"

"The king has never fully trusted me. He doesn't say so in words, but I can see it in the way he looks at me. At times, it's as if he can see straight into my heart and knows that I only ever meant to be faithful to you."

Richard still wasn't convinced. "And these plans you say you have…?"

"May I?" Sir William reached inside his doublet and brought out several documents, holding them out to Richard. Two had royal seals dangling from them.

Richard motioned for Stanley to get up. "Over here, on the table."

The two of them walked over to the portable table on which were spread maps and other documents. The spilt goblet of wine was still there, its content dampening everything. Richard swept these aside and pointed at the table top. "Show me," he ordered.

Sir William unfolded the papers. One was a map of the region, covered with arrows and other symbols showing the terrain as well as proposed troop movements. The other two were orders, one addressed to Sir William, the other to another lord.

"I was supposed to meet up with him later tonight," he pointed to the name, "and give him this. I brought it to you instead."

Richard picked up the documents, scrutinizing them, looking for any sign that these were forgeries. The seals were definitely those of Henry Tudor, and the signatures looked authentic as well.

"And if I want to keep these?"

"That's why I brought them to you. So you can use them to help you formulate your battle plans."

"And what do you intend to do now that we've talked and you've given me these? If you remain here, Tudor will know something is up and these plans will all be for naught. If I send you back, I expose myself once again to the possibility of treachery. How do I know you won't reveal what you've seen here tonight, betray me a second time?"

"I would never do that. I swear by all that's holy, all I want is to fight for you, to redeem my honor and repay the terrible debt I owe you. These past years, everyone believed you dead. At times the guilt was almost overwhelming. When I heard that you were in fact alive, I knew I was being given a second chance to right a wrong."

Richard spent the next several minutes reading and re-reading the documents, pondering what to do. If these were real, and it certainly looked like they were, they almost assured him of victory in the coming fight.

On the other hand, there was always the possibility that this was some intricate plot to not only trap him, but also implicate Sir William in an act of treason. Even before Stanley had said as much, Richard had heard the rumors that Tudor never quite trusted the man, and he wouldn't put it past the Welsh bastard to plan something devious like this.

But there came a point when there was no clear answer; that a choice had to be made based not on hard facts, but intuition. And Richard's intuition was telling him Stanley had told the truth and that these documents were genuine.

"Deliver this as you were instructed." He gave back the one set of orders."If you don't deliver it, you leave yourself open to suspicion. Then go back to your men as you normally would and make sure you do nothing to arouse Tudor's doubts. No one is to know that this meeting ever happened, and when our two armies meet, I shall expect you to do what you've promised. I'm not going to make you privy to any of my plans; you are an experienced commander and should be able to recognize an opportunity when it presents itself. However, if you end up playing me false…"

"I won't," Stanley said vehemently. "I promise. I will swear any oath you ask of me."

Richard shook his head. "That's not necessary. You will either do as you promise…or not. We'll meet again soon enough and as I was saying, betray me again and I'll make sure that my men have orders to track you down and kill you if it's the last thing they do. Now go."

-0-0-0-

As the battle lines were being drawn and troops deployed, William Stanley was informed that he and his men were to be held in reserve. Apparently Tudor wasn't ready to fully trust the man who had put him on the throne. But Stanley didn't mind. Being at the rear would allow him to watch things unfold. He would be able to take his time to determine when would be the best moment to make his move. So he sat at the top of the small rise, watching and biding his time. Richard had trusted him to recognize the opportunity when it presented itself, and that's just what he was doing.

He scanned the landscape yet again, noting with disdain that Tudor was huddled with his bodyguard near a small copse of trees about a hundred yards to his left. Leave it to the Welshman not to get his hands dirty by actually fighting. Not like Richard, who would be leading from the front.

Though the waiting was starting to wear on his nerves, Stanley had to play it cool. If he committed himself and his men too soon, Tudor would have time to counter. Wait too long, and all could be for naught. So he sat on his horse, his innards tied in knots.

Then he saw it, the moment he had been waiting for. For what seemed like hours but actually wasn't, he had been analyzing the maneuverings playing out on the plain before him. He had seen the Yorkist army deftly lure the enemy closer to where archers were strategically placed on either side to harass and slow them down. Then something happened. Stanley saw a cavalry charge reminiscent of Bosworth, but different. As expected, Richard Plantagenet was in the forefront now, instead of going after Tudor, his aim was to drive a wedge straight into the middle of the opposing force, and have his reinforcements, who had been slowly making their way to their assigned positions, attack from each side. The strategy was working, and Stanley knew that if he attacked now, coming from the opposite direction, the combined force of the Yorkist army and his men could completely envelop and smash Tudor's army.

He called his commanders to him, quickly explaining the plan. These men were seasoned warriors who had fought with him at Towton and Tewkesbury. They were also, at heart, Yorkists. Though none had ever directly said anything to Sir William about what happened five years ago, he'd heard enough of their whispers when they thought he wasn't listening to know that they had seen that day as a betrayal of England's rightful king. After sounding them out, both individually and collectively, he knew that he could count on them.

-0-0-0-

Tudor saw the movement to his right and wondered what was going on. He was about to send one of his knights to ask for an explanation when he saw flags bearing the White Rose of York and Richard's Blanc Sanglier device being hoisted high in the air as Stanley led his men charging down the rise and into the midst of the battle.

At that moment, he knew he had been right not to trust Sir William Stanley. Now it was too late to do anything about it.

-0-0-0-

Stanley wasn't the only one to desert Tudor that day. Here and there, pockets of foot soldiers and archers threw down their weapons and ran to their Yorkist brothers-in-arms, leaving ragged holes in the line. Never a warrior himself but easily recognizing that momentum was no longer in his favor, Henry Tudor decided it was time to leave the field. With his small retinue of hand-picked bodyguards, he quickly and quietly made his way to the rear.

At first, no one noticed what was happening, but Sir William, who had been keeping one eye on Tudor, did. And he knew he had to stop it. The battle had to end here, today. If Tudor managed to escape, things would continue to drag on with no end in sight, leading the country into chaos. Ordering his men to continue their fight in support of the Yorkist army, he took a dozen of his best knights and left to chase down Tudor.

-0-0-0-

It wasn't long before Tudor heard the commotion behind him. A quick glance back told him that Sir William and his knights were bearing down on him. He swore. Damn the traitor! He and his men spurred their horses to go faster, but after only a short distance found their way barred by more of Richard's men who had been deployed earlier in the day, before the battle, to prevent the usurper from doing just this. Surrounded and outnumbered, Tudor and his men had no choice but to make a last stand.

The fight was short but brutal, and in a moment of perfect irony, it was William Stanley's sword that brought Tudor down. He didn't have long to enjoy the sweet taste of victory though as, almost immediately, a vicious pain ripped through his body. He looked down to see the tip of a bloody lance sticking out the front of him. He was just able to turn his head and see his assailant struck down by one of his knights before he lost consciousness.

-0-0-0-

Tudor's army was crushed, it's leader dead. Richard Plantagenet was once again, by the Grace of God, King of England. Though exhausted, he made a point of walking among the rank and file of his army, congratulating the men on a battle well fought. There were many cheers of "Á York! Á York!" and "God save King Richard!" as he slowly made his way to his tent where he could get out of his armor and clean up a bit. But before he did that, he hoped to speak to Sir William. The story of the man's timely intervention was already filtering through the camp.

Lovell came rushing to his side. "Have you heard about Stanley?" he asked.

Richard nodded. "Yes, I've been hearing all about his heroic actions. I suppose it would only be right to congratulate the man."

"No, not that. I mean that he was mortally wounded."

"What? No. Where is he?"

After the bright summer sun outside, the inside of the tent where Sir William had been brought looked dark and foreboding. As Richard made his way in, he saw a surgeon packing up his instruments as he prepared to move on to the next man needing his attention. He looked at the king as he made his way toward the exit and slowly shook his head. Stanley wasn't long for this world. Richard waited a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the dark interior and saw a priest at the dying man's side, hearing his confession and administering the Last Rites. Like the surgeon, the priest left when he was finished. There were still a lot of injured and dying men to be seen.

Sir William's squire and pages had been hovering in the background and when the priest left they came forward, trying to make their master as comfortable as possible. These young men were genuinely distraught and shamelessly shed tears as they bade their master good-bye. When they finished their task, Richard told them to wait outside as he wanted to speak to Sir William alone.

The wounded man had lost all color and looked like a waxen figure with his torso swathed in blood-soaked bandages. His face was deathly pale and his breathing ragged, but his eyes lit up when he saw his king. "We won," he said hoarsely.

Richard nodded. "Aye, we won…thanks to you."

Sir William smiled weakly. "That's all I've ever wanted...these past five years…to make up for…to atone for what happened…back then." He coughed, dribbles of blood-stained spittle collecting at the corner of his mouth.

Richard offered to send for his personal physician. "He's an excellent doctor. Perhaps there's something he can do…"

But Sir William shook his head. "No need for that. I'll…I'll be gone…before he'd ever get here." Already his eyes were beginning to glaze over and he reached out, trying to take Richard's hand in his, to make obeisance to his king one last time. "Have I…have I…repaid my debt?"

Richard found himself genuinely moved and took the dying man's hand in his. "Yes, your debt is paid. Your honor is redeemed. You will be hailed as a great hero, and buried with solemn ceremony, with priests singing masses for your soul."

"Then I die happy," he whispered and breathed his last.

Richard knelt and said a prayer for the man who for five years he thought of as his enemy, and who today had given him victory. He crossed himself, then reached over and closed Sir William's eyes, and left.

-0-0-0-

Mop up operations would continue for a number of days, but those who fought for Tudor, particularly the nobles, had nothing left to fight for and most of them surrendered, throwing themselves onto the king's mercy. The common soldiers, for the most part, were sent home. They had only been following their lords' orders. Any mercenaries who fought for Tudor were ordered out of England under pain of death. As for the nobles? Some would be spared, but forced to pay heavy fines and whatever other limitations Richard decided to impose upon them. Others would meet the king's justice on the block. One of the lessons Richard had learned was that if a man could betray one king, he could just as easily betray another.

Orders were immediately sent out for the arrest of a number of Tudor's inner circle, including Margaret Beaufort, Lady Stanley; her husband Lord Thomas Stanley (William's brother who was conveniently under the weather and unable to participate in the fight); and John Morton, former Bishop of Ely and now Archbishop of Canterbury. While he didn't want to draw the ire of the Church by executing Morton, Richard figured he sure as hell could lock the scheming bastard away for the rest of his life. As for Lady Stanley? Since she professed to be such a religious woman, she could spend her days as a nun in a convent where she'd be too busy praying to be able to ever plot again.

Yes, there was a lot of work ahead, a lot of decisions to make including what to do about his niece and Tudor's wife, Elizabeth, and her children, four-year-old Arthur and one-year-old Margaret.

But today he had taken the first and most important step in reclaiming his throne, thanks in large part to a man he once thought of as a traitor.

The End

Author's Note:

Writing a story featuring Sir William Stanley was an interesting experience. It gave me a chance to write about one of history's alleged villains (if you're a Ricardian, that is) and write him from a more sympathetic point of view.

Did you like what you read? Then won't you leave some feedback? Your author thanks you!