15th August 1469

The Ladies of Warwick would grow tired in the coming days. Anticipation layed claim to their blood like a merciless tyrant, confounding all senses and transfiguring the muted colours of the garden into short sharp bursts of violets and reds unfolding their eyes, as their imaginations were left to run wild.

No woman was more well-versed in the practice of biding one's time in dignity than the Countess herself. Her hands would be bound to the busy business of adorning her daughters' sleeves. The mind would set itself upon matters of feoffee to uses . As a young girl, the needs of the heart would be met through the valiant deeds immortalised in The Grail Stories, her tired index finger tracing each engraved line for semblances of her husband's character in De Boron's poesies. Fodder for girlish fancies that now lay in the shallow grave of her youth, made colder with each miscarriage wrought on her person.

Her daughters trailed behind her as they left the resplendent terraces for the vaulted chambers, just as the sext sun began to claim its highest throne. The silks from their gowns flashed behind them like straggling snakes made subserviant footmen, occasionally overlapping in clashes of colour. Fresh bristol silk as red as the maiden's hair, somber foliage patterned on crane-coloured satin for the mother and Indigo brocade dripping in richness and detail for the Duchess who would not deign it any other way.

Isabel's boudoir at Warwick possessed an inverted ceiling, which made it a favourite backdrop for her daughters when they played at castles. It was their third place of repose for the day already, and one that would well shield their complexions from browning.

Anne was sat close to the oriel window, busily attending to the wrinkles of her labour - a baby's smock. The green and murrey stitches, straighter than any stitches that had ever preceded them, glistened in the summer sun like cool jewels against the fire of her hair. She smiled gleefully.

Isabel, congruous to her usual character, made her pace slow and when finally appearing before them, had her hand placed visibly over her flat stomach as if two days shy of confinement. Her long dark hair shifted freely under the bare confinement of a frontlet emanating the carriage of the Virgin herself.

Anne eager to please held out to Isabel the flimsy cloth 'Issy, tell me you like it, there you may have not noticed I added a little bear cub, can you make its likeness?'

Isabel propped her feet upon their father's stool with a flourish before accepting the offering with delayed movement. She held it against the sun, nails critically grazing the handiwork for fault.

A daughter dark and pale with fashionable sadness in sage eyes, another with skin of honey and milk and hair like copper, full of vitality and goodness, as she. Had I not known them better I would have thought Isabel fit for mother's old title of Gloucester and Anne, a bride for Clarence. They once seemed like the sun and moon. Annet felt a certain fondness for her new son-in-law, as much she would begrudgingly admit if held to question, but now that Isabel was free to take to him as a lawful wife, she started seeing vestiges of his hopefulness and flamboyance take root in her.

'Daughter dear, how sure are you of your being with child?' asked Annet 'Only a week passes since your monthly course was due'

Isabel retrieved the smock to Anne, a brief inclination of her head conveying enough gratitude to inspire reassurance in Anne, just. The frock did little such for the Countess. 'As to your knowledge, father and George tarried in Calais near a week after we were wed. I can assure that the nights we had as man and wife were spent most fruitfully. If a child had not been begotten already, it would defy the workings of god and nature'

Annet shot a look at Anne, who was desperately trying to trap the giggles in her throat, but with little success. 'Isabel, you need not blaspheme and above that, being a woman wed does not entitle you to such vulgarity'.

Isabel stared back at her and redness took root over blanched features. She was once again her teenaged daughter, who would not have dreamed of retorting back to her mother.

'What have you taken to amuse yourself with today?' asked Annet willing a motherly warmth remedy her tongue.

Isabel produced some papers, the wax of the scarlett seal bearing two crows and a lion was unbroken.

'Are you truly planning on reading George's letters to us for the third time?' Jested Anne. Annet smirked in hidden gratefulness for the opportune timings of Anne's defiances when they rarely did arise.

'This is new news. Fresh news. A messenger brought it some hours past. If you both determine to be this way then I see no reason to share its contents' she said with newfound boldness.

'Go on then Isabel' prodded Annet patiently

' Dear Heart,

I write to you a jubilant husband eagerly bequeathing unto you the bestest of news. Your father and I have captured Edward and are but a day's ride from Warwick. Edgecote Moor is proof enough that God smiles upon our work and your uncle at Olney has now given us my brother. I think it would amuse you much to see our Edward fallen into the guise of our prisoner, his hands bound and unable to wright any more mischief upon this kingdom. I have mentioned to your father that the Oubliette would do perfectly, but he thinks me jesting and will not entertain the suggestion.

I once again say that my only regret is that you were not there beside me to witness for yourself the cries of 'A Warwick! A Clarence' as we rode through Kent and even London, though they say the South loves Edward. As you know Sir John Conyers was slain in the melée, which may be the only regret I carry with me, having found the northerner rebel's loyalities most touching. Withall, it is now more certain than ever that you will be Queen. Engage in your revelries as you ought to as you shall be the finest and most beloved'

Isabel pressed the letter to her chest and drew a deep breath smiling blissfully . The theatrics of the gesture ran deep and true, even Annet admitted to herself, seeing an unusual raise in her daughter's hooded eyes. They were now the Despencer green. Annet noticed from a wandering shimmer that escaped the window, how sprightly a new wife's eyes could be.

The reminding realisation of her daughter's youth once more hit her with a blunt fervour. She thought that perhaps, innocence indeed trumped experience in virtue, for the latter's lesser value never stilted the joy of the former. She remembered all too well the pangs of emotion she felt when reading her husband's triumphant war letters in what felt like another era, however, it was never like this.

She only saw the children who a season past were sneaking bonbons from the pantry now playing at war and crowns. Unjaded and unfortified hearts are liberal in their joys which, however much they rival the shallowness of a horse trough, also have it in them to overcome the Pennines with hope alone.

'Ah Anne, when I am Queen you shall be joined in the second to the best match in Christendom' Annet heard Isabel say and knew better than to ask who Isabel in fact considered the foremost eligible suitor.

'Oh truly Issy?' Asked the hopeful child

'Yes. Gloucester's cowardice will be forgotten like a dandelion would readily its pappus' Isabel passed to Anne her unguent so that she may too pride herself with soft hands, within lay crushed amethysts among a cornucopia of older herbs. 'A French prince perhaps, now I never much liked them, however, father says it is an important country to appease. Calais claims more of your childhood than it did mine. One only need hear your French. It even surpasses mine, I daresay unsurprisingly so'

Annet raised an eyebrow at that, in surprise as much as in amusement. She did not think she would hear Isabel admit that Anne could best her in anything, while still here on earth.

'Thank you dear sister, I am readily committed to forget Richard. Tell me, how can one brother so valiantly cross the channel in defiance of the king for love, whereas the other would not even dare ask him twice?' Edward, the cold calculating king, denier of love, prohibitor of the happy marriage. My, what a fanciful image these two weave.

'I would tell you if I knew Annie' chuckled Isabel shaking her dark head in disbelief 'Richard clearly would rather his brother than a wife he loves. If I were you I'd say "good riddance"'

Hands tightened around the stout wooden arms of the Countess' chair while an errant foot involuntary kicked at the rushes freeing a herbal scent. 'Truly, had cat's brain been slipped into your porridges this morning?' She noticed both her daughters suddenly veering their faces away from each other and towards her, startled by her exclamation.

'Gloucester was not yet a man when Clarence first defied the king, what would you have a twelve year old do, Isabel? I know that to attempt to veto your musings would be in vain, but you are no Queen yet and as such must not alienate anyone of the house of York, not in thought nor in deed'

Isabel nodded quietly, Annet saw in her face the crestfallen expression George wore the five years past. Wide eyes sparked with dismay rather than dulled by contrition or diminished pride. 'Yes, we have all seen the French price of loyalty. Jesus wept, you think any of this I did not know before? As you said, let me muse in peace'

Just as in St Omer, a curtain of silence swept over the room only to be availed by the Sunday tintinnabulations of the bells in St Mary's Church. The peal of Anne's voice added to the chorus, 'But this letter dates three days past. Why are they not here?'

It would be like George to sacrifice clarity for flare. 'Best read the rest', prodded Annet

'Very well then', Isabel conceded

' Beloved one, I bid you goodnight presently at Kenilworth where I tarry for a day in the dispensation of justice. Two snakes heads are to be taken off by matins tommorow, they are those of the witch's father and brother John - married to your aunt Katherine. I believe that is explanation enough for why though I am near, you must wait a day or two to rejoice in my return -' the letter slipped unceremoniously through stunned fingers.

Annet was at once at her side 'Isabel! Isabel!', she shook her by the shoulders freeing her raven hair from its frontlet and into the pallour of her face.

'I did not want this mother' she whispered faintly behind a shaking fist 'What would god think, what would-. Oh jesus, have mercy on us'

'God smiles upon them' Annet found herself quoting George 'he is the almighty and the Queen's kin would not have been put in their path if he willed it any different'. Hands were now placed about her daughter's collar as if she were a horse caught in a storm needing to be steadied.

'You would say the same for my grandfather of Salisbury. That god willed him lynched and cut down, rotting in the squalor of Wakefield?' She would have drawn her hand indignantly to her chest had her mother not enclapsed her wrists into a steely grip.

Soothing her daughter, she realised, had all the wisdom of a cripple instructing a mute on how to walk. Annet briefly looked away. She, the cripple here, was unsettled rather than horrified. Yes, feeling naught for a man and his young son being strung up like poultry is unsettling.

Have I no heart, have I relived this moment too many times, just to find that everything that is to be felt, I felt, yet none the wiser for that?

'I would not. That you do know perfectly well. Now, your father has done great good. His place in God's kingdom is assured. Clarence is young, he has many more years to uncover the long, winding road. As for you, you have no part in this. Your soul is not tarnished, worry not for yourself- selfish practice it would be if you did'

Pale green eyes stared back into hers streaked with bronze. Anne was ever more a joy to her than Isabel, the bond was obvious. But in moments like this, her attentions covered aught but Isabel in their griefs and worries. 'If you'd only know mother! It was George's path that placed exclusively into my consideration. Father as well, but certainly not myself and my soul. I think of my wretched powerlessness. On how often I will find myself able to do nothing to ensure that George may walk the golden path with father when the time comes - that even before that he will be cursed here on Earth like a Henry Fitz-Empress'

The Countess stood up, the crane-coloured thistles in her skirts gathered around her like a ghostly garden against the windowed backdrop of a coming storm. 'Oh but there is much to do. Be his wife and love him, be England's Queen and keep its peace, bear the King a son and secure his succession. Do this and there will be no more deaths. I vow this to be true'.

'Lo- mother, sister, the King!' shouted Anne across the room. The warm wind from the Campion hills was in conflict with the sudden onpour, noisily banishing the raindrops to the windows in opaque watery blankets. Annet did not need to be with her husband and attendants below to know that the gravel was still hot. She could make Clarence's likeness: the rider of the black destrier whose curls streaked golden by the sun stood on one end. Her husband's return she saw not with the eyes but felt instinctively. Her eyes would not have demasqued the downcast man for the king had he not so towered above all the others.

'Isabel, tidy yourself your ki -' no, brother by marriage. For heavens sake, what to call him? ' Edward is here' she finally settled on.

Isabel was looking too, the Byzantine garnet pendant she was gifted by George as a wedding night gift, claimed what little light came from outside in its opulence. Her face showed no sign of duress and no sign of tears. Annet sighed with contentment and now relief for Isabel's imperturbable exterior, how she would have hated a crying daughter. One to remind her every waking hour that she was no son.

A white bolt of silk was fashioned onto Isabel's head into a chaperon and they made their way down to the great chamber for their last excursion about the castle. The three men passed the threshold and when the women curtseyed, the befudled Countess thanked chance they came at once as none of them knew for whom the deference should be intended.

Isabel was the first to rise, greeting George as a wife. A wife's devotal duty. Surely none could gainsay her for bypassing the King .

Any neutrality was however broken when George in spite of- or rather because of- his brother's presence drew Isabel towards him pressing his lips lingeringly against hers.

The King did not need to do more than narrow his dark eyes, and fear was struck into the walls themselves. The stalwart grey stone which saw all their childhoods and marriages unfolded, all but this giant of a man, who in them saw nothing but the betrayal that had passed against kings. No two kings were as different as Edward IV and Richard II whose Sir Gaveston was sentenced to die in this very castle. Yet fate is wrought with irony.

'Cousin, welcome to Warwick Castle' said The Countess who was in no mood for a confrontation regarding honorifics . 'I have made ready your lodgings at Caesar Tower. As soon as it started to rain I bid the servants prepare a bath, if you please'

The morose nod he then gave was greater confirmation of his capture than any tied rope could have given.

As he was escorted away, she fell into her husband's arms in a strange variation of their reunion customs. 'Is it done?'

'I know my clever Annet better than to ask which you did mean- the deposition or the executions' The Earl joked, cracked lips forming a warm smile 'Yes, the deed is done'.

Drops fell into his collar as he shook his head at George, clucking, who instead chose his plain tattered boots as his focus 'For the love of Christ George, I know you did add that to your letter to Isabel. I told you: platitudes and naught else should be there. Have you spared any though on-'

George met his eyes and answered with, 'Thought on what? That news would get out and Edward would find out?' The smirk that gathered, sat as naturally on his soft lips as a dagger in a babe's hand.

Warwick slapped his back in congratulatory laughter, 'Right you are my boy, but best be be cautious. Always.'

Some days later, they all found themselves at a supper none wished to attend.

Edward sat his goblet down as quickly as he had raised it for the page to pour his wine. The malmsey wine sat in a sickening sweet and heavy lump in his throat. Instead of washing the heavy cuts of poultry with wine he seemed to favour an opposite approach. Even she had to admit how that particular Grecian wine did not take to everyone's pallet and certainly not hers, but it was the best and for that also The Woodville Queen's favourite. Haughty, fleeting and ambitious, perhaps under other circumstances, Clarence and the Queen would have been kindred spirits. But in times of war such personalities clash.

Her husband had long finished eating and soundlessly disappeared only to return with a clangour against the flagstones as if he were bringing an armed retinue to supper. The paper he pushed to Edward was every bit more noxious.

'What is this cousin?' asked Edward feigning confusion

'Your abdication documents, Edward. Your indolent attitude towards our provisos was unkingly. I am doing both you and England a service, sign this and cease to be king. I have only to speak in The Lords and have you struck down by force' The impatient earl pushed them further towards him 'Spare yourself some dignity. Sign this'

'Ha- of course, one more of your expertly crafted documents, monsieur diplomat. Tell me, will I find here any of George's artistic flourishes as the previous?' He shot a look at George who matched him venom for venom 'I see our history tutor has had an impact on you. Richard II, Edward II... George tell me, do you fancy yourself Henry Bolingbroke?

George's nostrils flared as his shoulders hunched. Annet could see he was looking at Isabel expectantly only to find she resorted to fiddling with the green veil of one of her more modest henins, I pray she will find her mediation duties at court to bemore civil . Mercifully Anne was not present (despite her protests) to add draught to the flames.

'We only wanted-' started Warwick

Edward toyed with the bill 'Yes yes. An end to corrupt governance, reversal of inordinate changes, such and such. This stinks with the same rancour as it did hundred years past with the kings George so artfully imputed in the manifesto. Truly cousin- has your creativity dried out? Using the same turn of phrases on me as you did with poor crazed Henry of Lancaster? I see no reasonable provisions within its content but a call to the past when all powers were vested in you. I laugh.'

His smirking eyes suddenly took to anger, a shade nearly covered behind dark eyes turned black by candlelight, as he eyed the document of abdication. Something struck him and it showed clearly in the clear low tone he began to adopt. 'Does my lady mother know about this? None have loved you like mother, George. Yet you would make her an adulteress. Tell me, will you set a cuckhold's horns atop our father's head after you be crowned? And you speak of dishonest advisors. The peddlers of Cheepsake have more honour than that'

God's angels must have stood in shock as for once, George gave no retort. He did not rise to his brother's wit nor hurl insults at him, though many had probably occurred to him. The two only shared look isolating aught. The true cousins' war, now a brothers', though Annet with horror.