Chapter 11
I
Fotheringhay Castle, 1452
She had been pregnant before, 11 times to be precise. So she saw herself as an experienced mother, one that was so familiar with the inconveniences of childbearing that she was by now above all that fear that had once rattled her younger self when she was carrying her husband's first children.
When her physician took a urine sample to be mixed with red wine to test for pregnancy, she did not have to wait for him to return with the good news. She already knew for certain that she was again with child. That warm, familiar feeling had returned and had heightened her mother instincts, making her kinder and less patient with others than she normally was.
She had followed the strict procedures like she always had, withdrawing from her family's company when she felt the first kicks of the infant inside her belly. With her tiny entourage of servants and midwives, she locked herself inside her bedchamber, which had been refurbished with soft tapestries and calming images to ensure her health. The windows were shut to prevent malignant miasmas from entering her sanctuary. They would not be opened again till she had fully recovered from giving birth. She was accustomed to be locked in like this, to spend her waking hours in her small claustrophobic world that was only illuminated by the flickering lights of candles. It wasn't any different from the previous 11 times. As the days slowly passed into weeks, then into months, and her belly continued to grow reassuringly, she thought that she had no reason to worry.
But then, 4 months after first noticing her pregnancy, things started to go horrible wrong.
She woke after a long restless night in which she dreamt of giving birth, not to a human child, but to a wolf cub, one with razor teeth and a horrible nasty bite. Drenched in cold sweat, she struggled out of bed in need of using the urine pot. It was then that she noticed that her feet were red and swollen, and hurt horribly when she tried to stand. The family's physician was summoned. He placed amulets and sacred gemstones on her bedside and on her chest, and wrapped prayer rolls around her belly to help with the pain, but it all failed to work. Then he gave her a bitter herbal remedy to drink, and when that still failed to help her, he ordered her servants to wash her body with it. She only got sicker, and vomited up blood, while violent headaches started to fully debilitated her. In the end, the clueless healer tried to bleed his patient in a last effort to reduce the swelling. First he used leeches, but when even that failed, he opened the veins in her arms. It was extremely painful, and the blood-letting only weakened her even more while her fever continued to climb. By the time that her physician scuttled away to inform her husband that he could do no more to save her, she had already slipped into unconsciousness.
It was therefore strange, that she found herself waking up with bright daylight shining in her eyes. A slender figure with wild grey locks and a fierce look on his face was standing at her bedside.
"Have I died? Am I in heaven?" She muttered, fluttering her eyelids against the blinding light.
"No Cecily Neville." The stranger replied. Somehow, it did not come as much as a shock to her that he knew her name. "You are still breathing, but you are close. You're very close to dying."
"I don't want to die." She said truthfully and fearfully.
"Don't be afraid. I won't let you." His voice was so gentle, so reassuring. She felt safe in his presence, although she did wonder…
"Who are you? Where is master Conrad, my family physician?"
"You don't need him. Believe me, he is completely rubbish. If bleeding someone dry would cure illnesses than there wouldn't be so many dead people on the battlefield. You're lucky that I am here Cecily. Do as I say, and I promise, will save your life."
"Have you opened a window?" She asked, finally noticing where all the daylight had come from.
A thin smile spread over his lips. "A bit of fresh air will do you good, besides I am waiting for a parcel to arrive."
She looked out of the window. It was early morning, and the sky was purple and pink. A pale and ghostly moon was still visible in a field of fading stars. It was nothing extra-ordinary, but it was still beautiful, and she suddenly realized how much she had missed this view.
It was then that she caught sight of a large glittering star falling across the sky. It fell down at a slight angle towards the neighboring woodlands where it disappeared behind the dark branches of the treetops.
After this, things started to become a little strange.
The fallen star suddenly reappeared from behind the trees. Instead of falling, it was now moving in a straight line, heading right for the castle tower. The light became brighter and brighter, till it landed on her window sill. She blinked and squinted her eyes, and saw that it was some kind of ugly bird, a large black-feathered creature that had carried the star in its beak.
The slender stranger walked over to the creature and opened his hand. "There you are, it is about time."
The monster bird dropped the star in the palm of his hand. When he returned, she finally saw that it was not a star, but a glass phial filled with a clear liquid. It shone with a beautiful white light that illuminated the dark and depressing chamber. For a moment, she no longer felt the pain in her swollen limbs and belly, or noticed the fear rattling inside her heart. She was at peace.
"A star in a bottle." The man said, and took off the top from the phial. Gently, he brought the glass rim to her pale cracked lips.
Although she did not know him, Cecily suddenly felt overwhelmed with a great love for this strange man, who had taken away her suffering and had turned it into bliss. He was like mercy from heaven, and she trusted him completely. In 3 sips, she emptied the entire bottle.
"Will I now live?" She asked. She felt the liquid starting to settle inside her. It was like a warm and comforting glow.
"Yes, yes you will." He whispered.
"And what of my child?"
"He will live as well."
A small smile of relief curled her lips. The warmth had risen to her head, and she felt faint and dizzy, but still very comfortable.
"You are tired. You should sleep."
She shook her head. "I am too afraid to shut my eyes." She gazed up and reached for his hand, her fingers gently touching his. "Will you be gone when I wake?"
"When you wake up, all of this will be like dream, as it should be."
"But if you are gone, what will happen to me? What if I don't wake up again?"
He smiled, and lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. "Go to sleep Cecily, and I promise you that you will wake to see many more days."
"Could you…at least stay till I have fallen asleep?"
He nodded and held on to her hand. His hand was thin, and boney, with long slender fingers. She thought he had the most beautiful hands. Everything about him was wonderful. His eyes, his voice, there was such kindness in his voice, such mercy.
Lady York closed her eyes, and while she kept holding on to the hand of the stranger, she drifted into a deep peaceful slumber. Instead of dreaming of giving birth to fearsome wolf cubs, she dreamt of a night sky filled with stars and a tall stranger who walked amongst them.
II
Two days after the Mayday celebrations, an outbreak of the sweating sickness brought in new suffers to the monastery. Ophelia tried to help where ever she could. Her potions proved effective, but ran out quicker than she could brew anew in the abbey's kitchen. The friars also lacked most of the ingredients that were required for its potency. Remembering that she had kept a large stock back in the cabin, I volunteered to go and retrieve them for her.
"Take my horse." She told me. "And please be careful and be swift in your return." I promised that I would, and kissed her when we parted. The taste of her lips made my heart long to return by her side even more. Riding fast, I reached the cabin by midday. There I cleared out the larder of most of its useful content, putting them in bulging sacks that became quite heavy with its precious content, and loaded these on the horse. I left while the sun was still high in the air, confident that, despite traveling now on foot, I would be able to reach the abbey before nightfall. I was around the midpoint of my journey in the hidden part of the forest, when I heard the voices of men coming in my direction.
Unsure of their intent, I decided to hide, pulling the mare with me behind a thick undergrowth of bushes, forcing my hand on her muzzle to keep her silent and still. A brief moment afterwards, an assembly of three armed men in full armor passed by on horseback.
One of the soldiers was carrying a banner. The sigil on the flag depicted the Lancastrian red rose, with a smaller heart consiting of the York white bloom. I recalled Ophelia telling me that Henry Tudor had married Edward's young daughter Elizabeth to reconcile the warring fractions. It was a smart political move, symbolized by this well-crafted public sign. It told the clever lie that the Plantagenet bloodline still ruled over the kingdom, although in truth, it was now further removed from the original stem than ever before.
I for one should appreciate the ingenuity of this, but what I saw truly was the woeful wreckage of all what was left of my father's noble house. The sorry sight of it cut right into my heart.
I was distracted from my embittered thoughts when I witnessed one of the men dragging a long rope behind him. It was bound to a prisoner. With his wrists secured behind his back, and the noose fastened around his neck, he was dragged behind the horses, and was struggling to stay on his feet. The prisoner himself was dressed in a brown tunic and habit. I realized that he must be one of the monks from the monastery. It was at that moment that the mare made a loud whinnying sound that startled the other horses, causing the man at the front to signal the others to halt their track. Fearing that they would find me, I tried to calm the bloody animal down, but she came even more restless and started whinnying even louder.
"Who is there?" The commander of the small group barked. "Come out! We've heard you!"
I carefully considered my options. I could try to flee on horseback, but Ophelia's mare was old, perhaps only one unfortunate stumble away from becoming lame. It won't be able to outrun the younger feistier animals of the soldiers. In the end, I would be caught, and the subsequent punishments that these rogues would undoubtedly bestow on me would be most severe. There was only solution for my current predicament. I raised my hands up in surrender and announced my presence in the hope that they would be lenient.
"Why are you hiding from us?" The commander demanded to know.
"I beg your pardon my lord." I answered in a shivering voice while I kept my hands in the air. "I did not know that you are men from the army of his royal highness. I hid from you because I was wary of robbers. There was no ill intend, I swear my lord!"
I did not need to feign much of my distress, for the two other soldiers, still sitting in their saddles, had aimed their lances down at my throat.
"Who are you?"
"Just a traveling merchant. I was on my way with my goods to the nearest town."
"Look at this, a crook back." The commander commented, as his made his horse circle around, eying me from head to toes. "Lame as well. By God, heaven did forget to give you any of its blessings, you poor wretch!"
A round of laughter came from his men, but it was nothing that I was not used to. Their mockery actually calmed me a little. Men in power seldom killed the butt of their jokes.
"You are a merchant you say?"
"Yes my good gracious lord." I lowered my eyes to the ground, reminding myself that back in the good old days when I still in power, how easy it was to be provoked into violence by the insolence of those who I considered lower in rank. It was best to act as meek and humble as possible in the presence of these cut-throat men.
"Search his luggage." He ordered.
One of his men dismounted and carried out his instructions. He found the bags of dry herbs and the collection of phials containing the ready-made potions and showed it to his commander.
"What is this? What are you exactly selling here?" The commander asked.
"Oh just potions. Medical herbs. Remedies for common infirmities." It was not difficult for me to lie, when my life was in danger.
"To whom?"
"To whoever has to coin to pay for them, my lord."
"That is an awful lot that you are carrying with you."
"I travel around, my lord. I visit towns and villages, following a long route depending on the seasons. What I carry with me is all that I own." I added, hoping that it was sufficient to persuade him that I was not a threat, but the man in charge did not seem to be entirely convinced.
"Raise your eyes and look at his man." He commanded, pointing out the prisoner who they had dragged forward to stand before me.
I gazed up and saw the man's face. It was the friar with watchtower duties, who I had greeted only this morning when I was on my way to the cabin. The soldiers had been very hard on him. There was blood seeping out of a damp patch of crimson on the side of his scalp. His lower lip was split and his right eyelid was red, bruised and swollen shut.
I lowered my eyes and shook my head, pretending that I did not know him. What would be the use to acknowledge him and to condemn us both?
"Are you sure?" He asked again, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes my lord, I have never seen this man before in my entire life."
"And you." The commander forced the prisoner to raise his chin with the sharp end of his blade aimed at his throat. "Do you know this crook back?"
The unfortunate man studied my features. I did not dare to look back at him and kept my head down.
"Raise your head! Let him see your eyes."
Reluctantly, I did what I was told. The friar's one remaining blood-shot eye focused on me before it darted twice to the left upper corner, as if signaling a hidden message.
The commander had failed to notice this. "Do you know him?" He asked, pressing the blade more firmly against the man's throat.
"I do not know him." The prisoner answered, and with that, he had saved me from a similar horrible fate. "I swear to God I do not." He added in a muted whisper.
For a single heart beat, I thought that the commander was not going to believe him, but then he sheathed his sword and gestured to the others to let me go.
"We are on the orders of our lord Northumberland and his royal majesty the king to dissolve the last resistance against the dissolution decree." He said to me. "There were rumors that singular pockets of catholic congregation were still active in this area. If you encounter such unlawful activities during your travels, let it immediately be known to the authorities, or you will be punished for conspiring with the enemies of the realm. Is that clear?"
"Yes, yes my lord, I will my lord, I will." I backed away with a series of humble bows and was about to take the mare's reins when he told me to halt.
"Leave your horse. Our unit is in need of pack animals. You can take your merchandise with you on foot if you must. We have no use for your worthless rubbish."
He tossed the bags over to me, letting them roll over the forest ground. I thanked the inconsiderate prick, showing all the servitude that I could possibly feign, and kneeled down to recover the bags. Several of the phials were shattered and an acid smelling liquid was dripping from the bottom of the sacks. I took what I could carry, but pretended to struggle with the load to give the impression that I still cared for my goods. I even exaggerated my limp to make them think that I would not be traveling fast.
"What are we going to do with this monk sir? He is not giving us anything." One of the soldiers asked his commander.
"He knows where the others of his congregation are hiding. I am sure of it." He replied. "If he doesn't want to lead us to them, it's no use dragging him around." He gazed around. His eyes fixed on a sturdy looking oak. "String him up. We will see how much it takes to get him talking."
The poor wretch was taken by his elbows and was dragged to a nearby tree. There they swung the rope that was attached to his noose over a thick lower branch. Just before they pulled him up, the monk gazed at me with a haunted look in his eyes. His lips moved silently to pass on a message with great urgency. I knew exactly what he wanted to tell me, but I was too much of a coward to let him know that I understood. The commander and his men hoisted him by his neck from the forest floor, and soon his feet were kicking in the air, performing a most macabre dance.
I had seen enough and turned away from the awful sight. As the soldiers kept themselves busy torturing and interrogating the poor man, strangling him before dropping him again from considerable height and breaking every bone in his body, I ran.
I ran as fast as my legs could carry me.
As soon as I was out of their sight, I dropped the bags and headed in the direction of the guard tower.
III
I had to warn the others.
I had to warn Ophelia.
The best option I had, as signaled by the monk, was to reach the guard tower before the soldiers found out about its existence and sound the alarm to allow the friars time to evacuate the monastery. Reaching the exact place where I remembered the tower should be, it took me a few frantic seconds to find it hidden behind the green canopy. It took me another few precious seconds to discover the rope ladder that provided access to the platform. I climbed to the very top, where I found a large rusted church bell attached to a wheel, hanging heavy from a wooden structure. A short chain was attached to a lever, which would spin the wheel and sound the bell.
I suddenly realized that sounding alarm would also attract the unwanted attention of the soldiers. The terrified look in the friar's eyes when the brutes lynched him was still burnt in the back of my mind.
I hesitated. My own spinelessness was begging me to be for God's sake sensible and to not bring myself into such danger. But then I thought of Ophelia, and of what these men had just done to the defenseless friar. I doubted no more. With renewed determination, I yanked hard on the chain, sending the wheel in a mad spin. The chime that came from the rusty bell was surprisingly boisterous and carried for miles over the valley, scaring flocks of nesting birds into flight. With a pounding heart, I kept ringing the warning bell as long as I dared to make it unmistakably clear to the others that the monastery was in danger. Then I went back to the rope ladder to make my way down. I was nearly half way when I was startled by the sound of hooves thundering over the forest floor, followed by a cry from one of the Tudor soldiers. They had spotted me.
I just caught sight of them when one of the men pulled his bowstring and released an arrow that flew close to my left eye, almost brushing the side of my head. Before he could take a second aim at me, I let go of the ladder and allowed myself to drop down to the forest below. I had dangerously underestimated the distance, and landed poorly, twisting my ankle in an agonizing way.
Aware that the men would soon come after me, I gambled that they would not want to abandon their precious horses and chose a path through thorny bushes, vines, and thick undergrowth, in the hope these obstacles would slow down their pursuit. I scrambled forward like a hunted prey, hardly knowing which way I was going, only that I was fleeing deeper into the darkness of the forest. My heart rattled in my chest as the fast paced sequence of hoof beats behind me slowed down considerably, yet still kept gaining on me in distance.
A sudden sharp pang of pain when an arrow piercing my left leg sent me tumbling forward into a tangle of ferns. A second arrow was fired. I recoiled as the barbed tip scraped over the back of my hand, just when I raised it up to shield off my face.
"Stop running! Or the next shot will go right you through your heart." The commander warned.
Panting like a wounded animal, I stopped running, and waited helplessly for the riders to come for me.
"Why did you sound that bell? Who were you warning?" The commander yelled while his men aimed their weapons down at me.
Realizing that nothing would now do except for telling the truth, I still decided to keep my silence as long as I was able to. The commander made an angry gesture at one of the soldiers, who dismounted and hit me hard on the side of my head. The viciousness of the blows made my vision blur.
"Tell me where they are hiding." The commanded asked again, impatient now, he unsheathed his own sword.
I am not a brave man. Although I had died once before and had whined like an ungrateful child about my resurrection ever since my return, at this moment, when the knife was almost at my throat and death was but one final breath away, I quickly realized that I actually did not want to die. Even worse, when the commander plunged his sword into my already injured leg and sent me howling in agony, I also realized that soon, I would be willing to tell them everything. I would do anything to stop them from tormenting me, even if it was only to delay the inevitable. However, the longer I could delay that horrible moment, the more time Ophelia had to get to safety. I forced myself to keep that in mind when they strung a noose around my neck and prepared to hoist my shivering miserable frame up a tree. I tried to remember Ophelia's face, recall the way she had smiled at me this morning just before I left, when the rope was beginning to narrow around my throat. I tried to hold on to that last memory, how the light of the morning sun brought out the little black specks in her green eyes, when my neck was starting to feel the pull of my weight.
My air was cut off. I was left choking and clawed helplessly at the biting rope. My vision was already starting to blur when I caught sight of a lone figure walking towards us, stepping through the cover of dense ferns as calmly as a maiden taking a leisurely stroll in a rose garden. My heart froze. The woman looked very much like Margaret. Her face was a death mask of solemnity. Her wind swept crow's nest of grey hair framed her features like a funeral shroud, and her torn red dress clung to the branches as she kept her steady pace towards us.
I uttered a muffled cry, convinced that, either affected by my fear of death or the lack of oxygen, my mind had abandoned all reason and had finally surrendered me to complete madness. But, like my eyes were fixed on Margaret's ghostly appearance, so did the look on the faces of my tormentors acknowledge her impossible presence.
"Halt!" The commander warned her. "Approach no further! Who are you? What are you doing here?"
But Margaret ignored him and kept coming closer, her deadened eyes set only on me.
"Where have you been Richard Plantagenet?" She asked calmly, her voice was chilling, as if the words were spoken from beyond the grave. "Have you met him? Have you met the devil?"
The soldiers who had hoisted me up the tree let go of the rope and to reach for their weapons. I dropped two meters down to the ground, and immediately tore the noose from my neck, sucking air through my narrowed windpipe to fill my oxygen starved lungs.
"Stay where you are!" The commander warned her again. He was visibly unsettled by her presence and on instinct, began defending himself by pointing his sword at her face.
Margaret slowly turned to him. The lack of fear in her response further deepened his unease.
"You want to stand in my way?" She said. The corners of her mouth turned downward in extreme displeasure. The look she gave these men could turn a grown man's heart into stone.
"Don't come any closer or we will dispatch you!" The commander warned a final time.
Convinced that she was the vision of my imminent demise like Richmond had been at Bosworth, I crawled away from her as far away as I possibly could. Margaret looked at the two other soldiers who had come forward with their swords raised, positioning themselves between their prisoner and the mad vengeful witch. Her eyes narrowed when she caught her own distorted reflection in their blades.
"You gang of toothless pups, falling all over yourself to please your far-away master by trying to frighten me with our hollow threats. Go on and dispatch yourselves!" She spat out, her fierce hatred fuelling the curse. "And do it quickly, for my heart holds little patience for your minor villainy."
The air was suddenly weighted down by an invisible mountain of stones. My limbs became heavy, as if gravity had been amplified to a thousand fold, preventing me to flee the scene. Paralyzed, I watched in horror how the soldiers turned the tip of their blades on themselves. Controlled by Margaret's cruel will, they were about to commit their own murder by their own unwilling hands. With motions that were forced and slow, they plunged their sharpened steel into their throat, heart, and belly, before twisting the blades. When Margaret finally released them from her deadly craft after they had parted with their final breath, they sank to the ground like lifeless bags of oozing flesh.
Stepping over the bloodied, still twitching corpses, she turned her attention back to me. Her spell finally broken, all the horror I had just witnessed came out of me in one mad terrified cry. I frantically scrambled backwards till I bumped into a pair of leather boots.
Someone was standing behind me.
Margaret immediately halted her pace. Her eyes lifted from me to the stranger, and suddenly, her death mask transformed into an expression of shock and awe for the one who had appeared behind me.
"My gracious benefactor." She said. She knelt down and bowed to the stranger. "I have not expected you to come so soon."
For a moment, I could but only hear the drumming of my heart, so fast and wildly it went that I was afraid it would soon burst out of my chest. When I finally dared to turn around to look at who it exactly was she was yielding to, my eyes couldn't simply believe it, and my mind was failing in comprehension.
"Ophelia." As I spoke her name in a tired, broken whisper, she brought down the back of her sword and sent me into darkness.
TBC
