~The Shadow of Tower~

Catherine and two year old Henry were taken from Westminster that very night; smuggled through the palace in silence with her brother and the Earl of Oxford leading her down dark passageways. Their shadowy figures danced on the walls, making them appear more monsters than men in the torchlight and she silently wished they had moved her in daylight.

They were her protectors in that moment but she almost felt they were her executioners, leading her in darkness to her death, to her doom. She shivered at the thought and clutched her boy close, once more swearing that she would not let one hair on his head be harmed.

Once the council's sentence had been read aloud again, she was escorted through a small arched doorway and down a set of narrow steps to the banks of the Thames where water lapped against the stone.

Upon the moonlit water, a small barge bobbed, laden with heavy furs Catherine wrapped around her boy as her brother helped her aboard.

"Godspeed, little Cate" He murmured and she returned his small nod, sending the same gesture to the Earl and trying to settle herself. There were no guards, no men offered for her protection, and as the barge pulled away from the palace, she felt herself yearning to return to shore.

It would have been a lie to deny that she felt a sense of growing unease as the barge sailed along the night. The world around was quiet, eerily so, the only sound being the gentle dip of wooden oars into water; the heavy breaths of the boatman as he worked. He did not speak one word and his haggard face was hidden beneath a cloak of jet black; a mortal Charon, she thought, remembering the purse of gold her brother passed to him before her departure.

Her heart quickened in her chest at the fresh memory and she clutched Henry a little tighter to her, watching the boatman with suspicious eyes. Had he been commanded to take she and her son to the next life? To find some means of taking their lives during the quiet of the night before casting their bodies to the grasp of the icy river below?

'No!' She thought and forced herself to shake her head in an attempt to rid the bleak expanse of her mind of such grisly thoughts. Her own brother would never seek to harm her nor his little nephew, his own flesh and blood, whatever the other Lords might feel! If anything that purse of gold would've been to secure her safety, the continuation of her life, not the end of it!

Once more, the wooden oars dipped into the Thames and the water rippled, shaking the shining picture of the night sky it held on it's surface. 'How quickly something so beautiful can be destroyed' She mused, watching as the moon turned to little more than a blurred ball of silvery light, it's curved edges obscured.

Her life had been destroyed thus, with one fell swoop that had resulted in the loss of so much, so swiftly. There was still a part of her that could not, would not believe it.

The King had been betrayed, forced to flee from his own Kingdom and now she had lost her husband, her title, her power, her position, her freedom. The pretty picture of her life had been shattered by the ripples of treason and she was unsure weather they would dissipate to calm once more. She had lost everything.

No, not everything, she reminded herself with a glance the sleeping boy in her arms. Her son, Richard's son. As long as she had him she would always have something worth fighting for. As long as her husband's heart beat within his chest she would have something worth fighting for.

Only she did not know how to fight, not then, and as the shadow of the Tower loomed over her she could not help but feel powerless. Perhaps because, in that moment at least, she truly was. It was a feeling she hadn't felt since her days of childhood in the hands of her Neville captors and it's simmering return made bile rise in her throat; a band begin to close tightly around her chest.

Her lower lip trembled and tears pricked her eyes but with a will stronger than iron, she forced herself to breath, compelling her lungs to take in the air they so needed to keep her to the realm of reality.

She was no trembling girl, no child, she was a woman grown, a Mother to the boy who now lay in her arms and to whom she had a duty to protect. Even if she wielded no power she had to remain strong for him and swallowed the bile filling her mouth with a grimace, wrestling in silence with her mind for control.

No youthful bout of fear would claim her reason that night, nor any night after.

As the barge sailed ever closer to the Tower, the river became a vast expanse of inky black, the moonlight banished by the ominous walls casting a shadow over the city. They were made for war, made for battle, for the long months of a siege, the thick stone as apt at keeping enemies out as they were at holding them in.

As they were to hold her in.

Glancing upwards as the barge turned towards one of the fortresses river gates, Catherine felt a shudder run through her. The dreaded reputation the Tower had earned was well deserved no matter the safety she'd felt she'd been able to lay claim to for her son just hours before.

The boatman dipped his oars into the water again, the slow, monotonous pattern of work now guiding her towards her prison and the arched gate of stone ahead.

Traitor's gate she realised and her heart grew heavy within her chest.

This was the council's doing, of that there could be no doubt. All of it was for while Henry was King, they were the men that truly ruled England when it was held by firm Lancastrian grip and this was one of their subtle displays of control. A reminder that though they had been merciful, this was where she stood in their eyes. A reminder that they held infinite power while she held none.

Traitors never did.

Or so she'd thought.

꧁꧂

They were not treated as prisoners but nor were they treated as if they were truly free. Upon arrival, her fears of a dismal little cell were dismissed, dashed by the kind smile of the Tower warden who helped her from the barge with an offer of his hand.

"Watch your step, my Lady" He'd said and she'd nodded her thanks, finding her throat so dry with nerves she was unable to speak. A torch in hand and two guards at her back, she was escorted swiftly across a cobbled lane, the air echoing with measured footsteps.

She was not housed in the white Tower but in the Garden Tower, a rather small building along the inner wall of the Tower that played host to the sturdy gates leading to Tower green. A small apartment lay above it, consisting of two rooms with whitewashed walls where the prisoners were to stay.

The first was the larger of the pair and had a strangely inviting sense to it. The hearth was lit, warming the cold chamber and a large bed topped with soft furs lay in one corner, appearing perfectly comfortable! Rugs were spread before the fire for Henry to play upon, as well as two oak chairs and behind was a small trestle table where meals would be taken.

After the warden ensured she and her son were well, he left, instructing that the guards keep a close watch at their posts. When the door was shut and locked, Catherine's incarceration at the Tower truly began.

The days dragged by through a mist of quiet solitude and monotonous routine that she established within the first week. For the majority of daylight hours she and Henry were kept to their rooms and forced to find ways to pass their time but in an evening the guards released them to the joys of Tower green. Catherine grew to view this small fraction of the day as her favourite, when the sun would set, turning the world to gold and her boy would play happily on the grass.

His delighted laughs would fill the air as he stretched his young legs and sometimes she even ran with him, lifting her skirts to dash across the grass to grasp a sense of freedom as well as to play! A gloomy cloud always descended upon the pair when they were escorted back indoors but their guards were not cruel and as the weeks dragged along they began to allow a few precious extra minutes to be spent in the open.

Their days were spent in the first large room of the garden Tower where they ate and slept, talked and played but once Henry went to bed, Catherine would retire to the second.

It was considerably smaller, possessing a tiny hearth that sometimes had difficulty warming the chill in the air but she found a slight comfort in the place. With its small alter and golden cross beneath the arched window that served as the giver of light to the chamber during the day, Catherine found it was where she spent most nights.

The worry festering within her for her husband and kin denied her sleep, as did the utter desolation that would have claimed her heart had she not had her Henry to cheer her.

More often than not, she would still be knelt before the alter as dawn broke across the horizon, her rosary wrapped tightly around her fist and wet with the tears she shed nightly. She tried in vain to keep them at bay during daylight hours for the sake of her son but once he was safely away to the land of dreams she could not refrain from weeping.

Into the dark she would whisper her husband's name, whisper pleas to God, desperate ones that kept her begging for his return for hours on end. All she wanted was to see his face, to hear his voice, to have his arms around her.

But as October turned to November and November turned to December, her pleas were denied.

At least she was able to maintain a remanence of her reputation of a great Lady for within two weeks of her arrival at the Tower, the King sent on her belongings. Her gowns, her jewels, her books were all generously returned and she allowed her heart to be soothed somewhat as she once more surrounded herself with finery. With reminders of Richard who had bought most of her possessions as gifts.

The most important of all was the sapphire pendant he'd given her four years before and it was soon unheard of to see her without it. It hung about her neck, a testament to her faith in her husband and the house of York but also the love she bore him. 'I may be forever parted from him in body but I will never be separated from him in spirit nor by law' She'd told the King and their mottos side by side was proof of that.

She could not deny being comfortable and yet, the one thing she truly craved, she was denied, by fate and by circumstance.

News.

Where was Edward? Where was Richard? Had they found salvation upon dry land with the King of France or perhaps with their sister Margaret in Burgundy? Were they rallying York support? Did the rumblings of York rebellion echo across the land?

At court, words spread quicker than fire, burning through minds and blazing on wagging tongues. It was a place of spoken secrets, where one single breath of a tale could send every courtier spinning their own story by nightfall. A snake's nest if ever there was one, at least information was not difficult to attain but in the Tower, even one whisper from the outside world was hard to come by.

Denied letters from her Mother and brother, she was mostly left to her own thoughts, her own endless wonderings that stretched across the sea but also to the crypt of Westminster Abbey. Elizabeth would have given birth to her child before the December snows fell but Catherine knew not weather her friend or her baby were safe, any more than she knew weather it was the long sought for Prince!

Did anybody truly know? More often than not she doubted it.

Christmas passed as a quiet affair but that did not mean that Catherine didn't try to be merry for her little boy. After debating it for some time, she had asked her guards if they might have a goose on and, to her delight, they had agreed, having the roast bird delivered, drenched in rich gravy to her on Christmas Eve.

Little Henry's eyes had grown wide with wonder at the sight, mouth watering, and he'd clambered to the table where they ate eagerly. After the simple meals of soup and stews they'd dined upon for nigh upon two months, they ate well that night, and Henry slept with a satisfied belly.

She'd gazed upon his slumbering figured with a sigh, once more wondering how much longer she would need to do so. How long would they be held at the Tower? Would they be there long enough to see another Christmas pass or another after that? Her brother had told her that they would be released upon the safe return of Queen Marguerite and Prince Edward from exile but she no longer trusted the word of any, having grown wiser with the knowledge that plans could change as easily as the wind.

The next day, she'd kissed her son good morning, wishing him a merry Christmas before helping him dress for the day. She had expected it to be uneventful, peaceful as their days almost always were and so was unable to mask her surprise when gifts were delivered to her chambers.

"From his grace, King Henry with season's greetings" One guard had said, causing her to exclaim in surprise and press one hand to her mouth. The King had bestowed gifts on she and her son when they were locked within the Tower for refusing to swear fealty to him? The thought was almost ludicrous and yet could only be true for it was something only he would do.

"Presents, Mama!" Henry exclaimed, toddling over to the small pile the guards had set down on the bed and clambering onto the covers. Bound in wrappings of soft velvet, they were easy for his little hands to open and Catherine could only smile as she watched him.

King Henry had sent his little namesake a fine doublet fashioned from fine velvet in the crimson and black of Lancaster, along with a little feathered cap the young boy loved to parade on his head! For Catherine he had sent a fine book of hours, the pages painted with vibrant colours that danced before her very eyes! It was beautiful and she'd felt her heart fill with warmth for the Lancastrian King.

His generosity knew no bounds it seemed and had his strength of mind been as strong as his kindness was then perhaps the history of England would've taken a very different course. Unfortunately for Henry, it was not.

That evening while Catherine read to her son by the fire another gift had arrived, one not from the King nor bearing a name from its giver. It was a mystery.

Bound by a length of red silk and tied with an ebony ribbon, she had unwound the material with care only to find a pair of gloves fall into her lap. Made from fine black leather, the cuffs were trimmed with ermine, the fur of royalty and Catherine's eyes widened at the sight before a small gasp left her lips when she saw the sigil embroidered upon the leather that would cover her wrists.

An ostrich feather.
The emblem of the Prince of Wales.
These gloves were a gift from Edward of Lancaster.

The realisation had made her weep once Henry was asleep in their bed and she'd clutched at the ruby ring she now hid in the front of her bodice each day, just as she'd done when she was a girl, not knowing how to think nor how to feel.

Though they were beautiful and the biting frost of January was more than cold, in the following weeks she could not bring herself to wear the gloves! She simply stared at them, wondering if they truly were a gift, a reassurance that Edward remembered her with fondness, or a warning. A warning of his imminent return.

꧁꧂

January 1471, The Tower of London....

"Look here, Mama! Look!" Henry called as he plucked a pebble he favoured from the hardened earth beneath his feet, brushing the dirt from its smooth surface on his heavy cloak before he showed it to his Mother. Catherine looked up from where she was curled contently against the trunk of the oak tree on the snow-covered green, a book in her lap and smiled, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the winter sun.

"A fine find, my love! Come and show me!"

Henry beamed, scampering over to her side while she watched him with a smile. He could run properly now, more or less without danger of falling on his little face! Still, he hurled himself into her arms when he reached the oak tree, forcing the book she was reading from her lap to make room for him.

Making sure his cloak was wrapped securely around him, Catherine smiled again when he showed her the precious pebble. She took it in hand and held it up to the sky, watching the pale oval glint in the sun that, though bright, brought no warmth to the earth.

"Very beautiful" She praised and Henry puffed out his chest with pride, taking back his prize and tucking it into the front of his doublet. One hand patted the place where it was stowed but the sound of guard's calling out for riders made him look up with a frown.

"What that, Mama?" He murmured but she did not reply, having heard the heavy beat of hooves carried on the wind and the clatter of armour as guards ran to their posts.

Nerves struck at her heart and she shook her head, quickly gathering her son into her arms and clasping him close while she rose to her feet. She was half tempted to hide behind the oak tree and take to peering at the newcomers but any notion of that was dashed when the blare of royal trumpets called out.

"The King!"

Henry jumped in her arms, a little grin on his face that remained as he peered up hopefully at his Mother.
"Uncle Neddy?" He asked excitedly and Catherine's heart grew heavy, twinging with hurt at the sight of her little boy's depleted expression when she shook her head.

The gates to the Tower were pulled open and the trumpets blared once more as the King rode through on a stallion of ebony black. It was a magnificent beast and Catherine was surprised to see Henry rode him with confidence, always doubting that he lacked the possession of such a feeling. He looked healthier than when she had seen him last and even from a distance she could see a slight colour tainted his cheeks.

A fleet of well-armoured guards followed in his wake, bearing the royal standard with swords ready at their sides.

"King Henry" She whispered as he rode along the cobbles, his blue eyes wandering over to where she stood. Immediately, she gathered her skirts, sinking down into a deep curtsy when question suddenly struck her mind. Had he come to see her? No other nobles accompanied him and just moments later she heard his leather boots hit the earth; snow crunching beneath them as he began to walk towards her.

'Oh God' She thought, feeling her son squirm in her embrace, eager to look at the stranger heading in his direction.

"King Henny" He murmured curiously and a lighthearted chuckle filled the air, prompting Catherine to look up only to see Henry staring down at her, a soft smile on his lips. He did not wear his crown, only a velvet cap, much like the one he'd given his little namesake that Christmas past and while his doublet did not drown him as his blue robe had done, it still seemed ill fitting. Like trying to put a stable hand in armour, it did not look quite right.

"Lady Catherine" He greeted, extending a gloved hand to help her rise. Though hating the sound of her reduced title, she accepted it gratefully, still too stunned to speak one word! Something that made the King's eyes glint with gentle amusement "Forgive the intrusion" He said quickly "I wished to see how you fared! After all, you have resided here for all but three months now"

"I-intrusion, your grace?" She practically stammered, snatching back her son's little hand when it reached eagerly for the diamond broach pinned to Henry's doublet "I was under the impression that this fortress belonged to you?"

That made him laugh and he shook his head, shuffling from foot to foot almost nervously in the snow. Like a child.

"That it does, my lady" He confirmed, letting his eyes flick to the little boy who stared curiously at him "And this fine lad must be your son?" He asked softly, reaching out to gently tap the child on the nose, making him blink in surprise. Again, Catherine nodded, a slight flush staining her cheeks as she finally found the strength to speak again.

"Named for you, your grace" She said and she was sure she saw a glint of pride in his eyes, accepting the arm he offered as they began to walk across the green together.

Still, the little boy watched the older man with a degree of suspicion, more than once reaching out to pat him as if to see if he were a ghost or not. The King did not seem to mind and smiled indulgently at the little boy before he reached into the pouch at his belt and produced a little square of toffee to occupy him.

The gift reminded Catherine of the presents sent to her at Christmas and she suddenly drew in a gasp, reprimanding herself for her forgetfulness "I must thank you for the gifts you generously sent my son and I at Christmas, your grace! They were most beautiful!" Henry smiled and waved a hand dismissively, looking up, almost relived, as they came to the steep steps of the garden Tower.

Despite the appearance of a slight increase in his health, Catherine did not think it would be good for him to be exposed to the chill of winter too long and was glad when he began to mount the steps. Clearly he knew this was where she was housed and she followed him quietly, nodding her thanks when he ushered her through the Tower door, closing it behind them.

The warmth of the chamber seemed to wash over him like the welcome water of a hot bath and he visibly sighed, plucking the leather gloves he wore from his bony fingers. They looked as delicate as flower stems.

"Do sit, your grace!" Catherine quickly offered, gesturing to a chair by the fire as she sought the wine pitcher that lay on the table. Removing her furred cloak and discarding it to one side while the King settled himself, she poured them two goblets of wine, feeling herself relax somewhat now the shock of his sudden arrival had worn away. She could never be afraid of him.

Wandering to the fire, she accepted his grateful thanks with a nod and sat opposite him, watching her son with a small smile as he sucked eagerly on his square of toffee.

"I see I have found a fellow who's taste matches my own" Henry murmured, also watching the small child with a certain fondness and he took a measured sip of wine from his goblet before flicking his gaze to the young woman before him "How are you, my dear?" He asked and her eyes suddenly met his, void of all merriness and joy. That told him all he needed to know "Ah" He murmured and she sighed, drumming her fingers on the side of her goblet.

"It is not that I am desolate, your grace" She admitted "I am comfortable here. Only without...." She hesitated, casting her gaze to her lap. While Henry was kind, she doubted he would appreciate her speaking the name of his enemy with fondness, not that she hadn't done more than that when brought before him the previous October. She shook her head silently and the King slowly nodded, sitting back into his chair with another of his airy sighs.

It was clear something weighed on his slender shoulders that looked as if they could snap trying to support a feather, let alone the troubles of a Kingdom.

"What is it, your grace?" Catherine asked and he raised his greying eyebrows, once more lifting the silver cup to his thin lips.
"In all truth, I thought you would already know, my Lady" He confessed, making her frown slightly "But I will admit, if you knew the news I bear, I expect you would be in better spirits"

Catherine's frown deepened but her curiosity was pricked, setting her heart beating almost wildly as the embers of hope she still harboured flared into cautious flames.
"I know nothing, your grace" She breathed, leaning forward to hear his words "I hear nothing in this place"

Again, Henry nodded, watching her closely over the rim of his goblet but not with suspicion, simply curiosity. She fascinated him, she realised as he sat up a little straighter, placing his empty cup quietly by his feet.

"It seems, God has seen fit to grant Elizabeth Woodville a son"

And, at that moment, Catherine knew the exiled Yorks would return.