~Bastardus Rex~

14th of September 1484....

Scouts came riding like hell up the bank a few hours before dawn, yelling for the King and duke of Gloucester. The men were quickly roused from their beds and servants fetched Constance who ran to her son's tent, a shawl wrapped hurriedly about her.

"The Woodvilles are coming" the scouts said between gulps of the wine they'd been given. "The Woodvilles are coming."

"The bastard is here" Edward had breathed, stirring a hunger in his eyes as his hand travelled across the map in front of him like he sought to squash them under his fingers there and then "How far? How many miles?"

"Twelve or so, sire." One panted "They'll be here by this eve."

And he was right.

Constance, Edward, Richard and John stood at the edge of the bank as they watched a force of around nine and a half thousand approach in the near distance. Cavalry, infantry, longbow men, artillery and at the head, a figure in gold on a white steed, the descending sun making his armour almost blinding. None of them looked away.

"Arthur." Edward murmured through gritted teeth with such malice none would be surprised if poison dripped from his tongue. His mother's hand found the top of his arm.

"I knew it was a fine idea to have you don black." Richard said, arms crossed, face grim as he watched the bastard ride forth. They'd sent around two thousand down to the bottom of the bank to keep the enemy back.

Constance would've voiced her agreement had her heart not began an erratic beat beneath the confines of her taffeta gown. She could not tear her eyes from the sight or quell the rising fear in her chest - the cruel realisation that the future of her house and safety of her children had now been firmly placed on the unsteady scales of battle.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
They'd come to take her son from her.
They'd come to take her heart again.

No doubt Elizabeth was amongst the rabble, she would not let her little bastard go prancing where she could not pull on his strings. What if she used her sorcery? Constance would defeat it with sheer will. The witch wouldn't take another son from her.

Clenching her teeth, a shiver ran through her and Edward's hand covered the one she had on his arm, squeezing tightly. He was trying to reassure them both.

"Be brave, my son." She told him "The time has come."

"And I will rise to it." He said though his certainty was marred by the slight tremor in his voice. No one could reproach him for that. After all this time, after all the months waiting, watching, grieving, fearing, smouldering in his own anger, the man he hated more than any other on earth was almost within his grasp to crush to a bloody dust. Or Arthur would crush him.

"We will rise with you, my king." Richard returned, his scowl deepening with every step the enemy took "They will soon stop. Leave enough room for battle."

They halted about a mile away from the foot of the bank. Once the two armies were set out in their formations they would be much closer. It was less than a day until they would be so.

"We will fight on the morrow." John said and Richard nodded his agreement "Let's get this done." The two men turned away, walking back into camp.
"Let's get this done." Edward repeated under his breath and finally tore away his gaze from the enemy, marching after his kinsmen, leaving Constance alone.

"The sooner the better." She muttered. She wished she could wield a sword.

༻᯽༺

As many noblemen as could be managed were crammed into the King's tent, the most important gathered around the large table in the middle covered with a map of the battlefield along with the King himself at the end and his mother. Between them stood a stern faced Richard.

Constance understood little of the strategy they talked of but knowing him she had no doubt it was skilful and cunning and the men around them clearly agreed, listening in attentive silence, only speaking when necessary. Yes, he would protect her boy.

"We are in possession of an advantage by claiming the bank." Two fingers landed upon its place on the map "We can station archers upon the ridge as well as our cannon meaning we can possibly destroy the order of enemy flanks, mayhap even their camp. A few can look upon the battle from above and send word if they see danger or weakness but we are to still fight below, our backs to the face of the cliff and, in the unfortunate event of a routing, there shall be very little space to retreat and regroup. That must be kept in mind as must the King. His safety is our priority and men must be stationed around him at all times."

"I am not a babe in need of coddling." Edward muttered, eyes on the table.

"You are a boy of fourteen who had not yet completed his training let alone seen battle." His Uncle replied sharply. He was to take charge in every other affair but here, Richard was master and no one, not even the King could contradict that.

"You are England's future and while you must fight, you will be shielded as you do so. There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity, nephew." Richard looked at him "I know you do not possess the latter." Then returned to the map and the men "Suffolk, you will command the vanguard as discussed, Brackenbury will be with you and your son." John De La Pole nodded, a hand on the hilt of his sword "Northumberland, you will take the rear with my lord of Beaujeu." John Neville and Peter glanced at one another, inclining their heads in respect.

They knew each other but little and in normal circumstances would be enemies being from England and France but that day stood united for their king and would fight side by side. "The King will lead the middle-guard with myself at his side. Kildare, you and your men will join us and so will the remaining men of the Holy Roman Empire."

"Shouldn't I be in the van, Uncle? Lead my men in the first attack? Would it not show strength?" Quiet mutterings erupted between the men at the young king's question, quickly silenced by Richard's raised hand.

"A fine idea in principle, your grace, but as stated, you are a young king, it would not be wise to place you in the first engagement of battle. Your father lead the middle guard at Barnet and Tewksbury"
"And you lead the vanguard at both."
"Suffolk is more than capable. I wish to remain at your side, your grace."

Edward inhaled sharply but offered no more protest, looking to his uncle of Suffolk and nodding his approval.
"Very well."
"Lovell, Percy, you will be in the middle. I've decided to place Stanley's forces in the van, the Tudors will join the rear."

"And what of my lord of Bedford?" They looked up towards John who's 19 year old son was at his side "I'd have your son with me if you would permit it."
"While I respect my father's wishes, I am my own man, your grace," George answered, stepping forth "and if you would have me fight at your side I will be honoured to be there."

Richard eyed him, straightening up from the table.
"You haven't seen battle before, have you?"
"Nor had you until Barnet, cousin-"
"George-" John began sharply but his son payed him no heed.

"A year younger than I and you still fought like hell and helped greatly ensure the late king's victory. I will do the same for my king now. I am a Neville, do not doubt me."

Richard sighed, considering the young man for a moment then glancing towards his nephew before he gave his nod of assent.
"You will be in the middle guard with the King."

"Your grace!"
A man burst through the tent, face clearly red (even in the candle light) and gasping for air as he ran towards Edward and fell onto one knee before him "A messenger, your grace!" He spluttered "Arrived just this moment from the usurper!"

Constance was sure she could feel her son's blood boil and his eyes light aflame, fists flexing at his sides while Richard's jaw clenched.

"Everyone out!" He ordered in a voice remarkably stoic "Now! You'll be recalled when needed. Suffolk, Northumberland, Bedford, Francis, Rob, my lord cardinal, Bejeau. You stay." The nobles hurried out on Richard's orders, bowing hastily as they left until the small group was alone with the man.

"What does he say?" Edward demanded.
"That his master has sent terms for your surrender and peace!"
"He has the balls to dare send such a thing?" He hissed. Constance feared he was about to throw the nearest candlestick across the room - or march out and kill the messenger.
"Or the stupidity." Richard offered "It'll be his whore mother's idea."

"No." Constance said stoutly, making the men turn to her. She shook her head. This wasn't Elizabeth. "No. She'll want the dirt running red with our blood. No, this is him." Her eyes flicked to Edward "Will you hear him? This messenger?" His face was thunderous, gaze piercing. She could see his mind was racing, with questions, with vile insults, before he turned slowly back to the man.

"Why not." He said lowly "It'll be a good laugh. Bring him forth!"

And so Arthur's messenger was hauled before his throne, Constance and Richard standing either side of it, the others close by. His fingers gripped the carved arms so tightly he was in danger of clawing up the wood. The messenger, a man of around Richard's she knelt before her son, wool cap in hand, head bowed before Edward motioned for him to rise.

"Well. Speak" He demanded "What does my father's bastard have to say? If he even is my father's." Just one look at him could prove that but the insult was clear.

"My king asks for your surrender"
"Strange, I don't remember asking for that."
"He asks for your surrender so that England might have peace. He wishes for all to be well in his house." His house? Constance scoffed "A pardon will be issued to many of the rebels, including all his kin. You will be forgiven, provided with a wealthy estate and title where you may live quietly as will your mother. Your sisters will be given good marriages and your brothers honoured positions in his household. He says your younger brother Richard may before his cup bearer, a task many envy and desire."

"Really?"
The man nodded, not daring to look Edward in the eye.
"Really, my lord. All you need do is disband your forces and bend the knee to the King, recall your brothers from Burgundy so they may do the same and your kin too. He does not wish for bloodshed but for peace as his noble father did before him."

Constance felt her fingers ball into fists. How dare he mention her Ned, how dare he speak of him as if he would partake in this treason; wished for it to be so? How dare he try to claim her Edward as his! Her hatred for Arthur increased that much more. Richard's fingers brushed against the back of her hand, sensing her ire.

'Be calm, sweetheart.' His touch said 'All will be well soon.' Her fingers unfurled.

"King Arthur awaits your answer with much anticipation, my lord, but he gives you time to deliberate."

With a face bleak as a stormy night, he sent the man outside with a firm wave of his hand that Constance wagered he wished to hit him with instead.

"What utter nonsense!" Richard cried as soon as the man was gone, striding forward "Even if in some fucked world we agreed to those terms he would not be able to keep them! You really think he'd allow the man opposing him who's able to rise more than twice as many men for his banner to live? Or his brothers?" It was true folly to ask them to believe it.

"Honoured positions in the king's household? Ha!" John scoffed scornfully, joining him "The only position they would fill is one lying down on the block! And all of us too!"

"What was the aim?" George asked, folding his arms "He must know we would not accept this madness."
"It is to try and glimpse our thoughts, our feelings. They will be judged by what reply is sent." Richard replied. So maybe this was Elizabeth.

"It certainly shows us theirs. They are uncertain, possibly worried, and that shows weakness." John asserted, hand on his sword's hilt "They do not know what we will do. We are unpredictable which lends us an advantage. They've given much more to us than we will them. What is to be the King's reply?" They turned to Edward who was twisting his rings, somewhat slumped on his throne and silent as the grave "Your grace?"

He looked to the right corner of the tent
"You see that basket?"
Wicker, dark, skilfully crafted. Richard nodded.
"Yes, my king."
"Send his head back in it. We must be clearer than mere words. I will not grace that farce with any other answer. He'll knows my terms then."

Constance sucked in a sharp breath. Never had she imagined such words, such violence, emerging from her sweet son's mouth. While the messenger was in Arthur's employ, he was no assassin sent to kill them. He was lowborn and to him it was simply a job, one many would take. He'd been unfortunate enough to choose this one.

"It is a threat." She said.
"It is a promise." Edward replied.
"And the man who is to deliver it?" Richard asked, staring with similar (but more skilfully masked) bewilderment at his nephew.

"Have him dress in the messanger's garb, throw the bloody basket into the camp and ride like hell back to mine." He stood, almost sauntering back to the table "Oh, and before he goes, I want you to carve something onto the dead man's brow."
"And what would that be?"
Edward looked at him.
"Bastardus. That should be simple enough for even the traitor to figure out."

"A tad excessive perhaps?" Charles said.
"Compared to his extensive list of crimes committed against my family I'd say this is rather tame." The King's gaze fell upon him "Yours too. He murdered your brother, your grace."
"Agreed" Richard and John murmured in unison and Edward sent them a nod.

"It will be done once he's dead, mind." He shrugged "He may be servant to the wrong master but we are not savages. Well," He prompted "see to it, Uncle Dickon, Uncle John." The two men bowed, glancing at each other, then Richard at Constance before striding out of the tent, grim faced but determined. She could only sigh and stare at her son.

It was necessary, she thought, however brutal it was necessary.

༻᯽༺

The dead man's muffled cries for mercy were still ringing in her ears when she stepped into her son's tent again an hour later. He was once again seated on his throne and his locket was not about his neck but in his right hand, the chain wound about his fingers, it's pendant in his palm, thumb stroking the engraved front.

A soft smile curved her lips.
"Despite what you say you miss her don't you?" She said, walking up to him "Your little wife." Edward sighed.

"In my own way." He murmured watching the pendant gently swing back and forth. That was good, she thought. Their marriage didn't require love - no match did - but it was good if there was at least a little affection; care "She is sweet and her faith in me so unwaveringly absolute, so resolute."
"And mine is not?"

"You know what I mean." He said, looking up at her "It is a blind loyalty. She thinks me as great as God, ma Mère, sees no faults or possible weakness. To her I am as strong as a giant, as wise as a Saint. She is sweet and she is good and perhaps the only pure thing left on this earth." His eyes drifted back to the locket "I want to keep her safe, Mother," He confessed "for her to blossom under a peaceful sun without fear of war or death." Just what he wished for his sisters. Her smile grew and she bent down, kneeling at the throne's side, chin atop her arms which she folded on the great chair's arm.

"When do you intend to crown her?"
"Alongside me. It would do the nation good to celebrate a king and his queen, secure them in the knowledge that they have an ordained queen, not just a little girl. And her smile will bring them great joy, her laugh too," He huffed a small chuckle "it's the merriest thing. She is the promise of a new age, untainted and bright. The coronation will be as grand as we can make it." He looked at her again, suddenly earnest "I hope my haste does not offend you, Mother. I do not seek to replace you."

Her answering laugh was soft and her hand came to cradle his smooth cheek. When would it be able to sport a beard, she wondered.

"Of course there is no offence, my love! It is the fate of queens to be replaced when the time comes and my time has come. Having her crowned with you is a fine idea!" She'd send a letter to Marie telling her to ready for a joint coronation when she took London! It would be a great day for England!

Unwinding the locked from between his fingers, he slipped it back over his head and tucked it neatly beneath his doublet, patting the spot where it landed.
"I promised her I'd wear it to battle" He told her, standing "and I will. It will bring me luck." Smiling, he offered her his arm "Come. Walk with me." Rising to her feet, she brushed down her green skirts and took his arm; pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He lead her from his tent, acknowledging the bows continuously sent his way with nods and smiles. He was cultivating their love already, she could feel it. His men were beginning to love him for more than his royal blood and his father. She wondered what the enemy would think when the messenger's head was flung between their tents.

It was necessary, she told herself again.

Before long, they arrived at the cliff's edge, looking out into the inky blackness of the night, the clear sky dotted with sparkling stars, the earth lit with pinpricks of amber light in the distance.

"Have you any news from Marie?" He asked, hooking the thumb of his free hand into his belt.
"Only that which I've told you. That she and her forces have faced no opposition and gain men as they travel. London will welcome her with open arms I daresay." Of course she would be, she was their jewel.
"She is doing well."

Constance couldn't help but chuckle.
"Of course she is. She's your father's daughter and mine. And she will ensure your coordination is a grand one." Her son hummed and she looked up at him with a gentle smile. His brow furrowed.

"Look at them." He spat, settling his burning gaze on the enemy camp "Mongrels." Yes, she thought, they were mongrels but nevertheless could hold a blade and over nine thousand of them would be searching for his flesh on the morrow. She shivered as a gentle breeze brushed past her ear. "I must be plain with you, ma Mére."

Edward turned to her and took her hands in his, that earnest look overcoming his face again that made him look more boy than man "Tomorrow and the weeks following I must be brutal. I must be merciless and shed men's blood as easy as I breathe." She nodded. She knew that, it was the nature of war and the cost of victory. "I hope you will not judge me ill for it."

"My dear, sweet boy!" She exclaimed, squeezing his hands "I will judge you to be nothing but a brave and decisive ruler who does what he must to protect his throne and kingdom. You are scotching demons from the earth, my love, not innocent men." The worry on his face eased a little and he sighed; nodded.

"I remember what you told me, before you went to France with father." Her eyes grew wide, he remembered? "You said there was glory in war but bloodshed that couldn't be taken back and that war came at a great cost to our subjects and to think of them before our own victories." She nodded, mouth forming a small O. She had told him that! And her sweet boy had remembered! "Once this is done I will see peace and plenty in England, Mother, I swear it." And how could any soul not believe him?

"I am sorry we fought on your coming here" He continued "I know you only wish what's best for me. I have much to learn before I can become as great as father."
"You will be better, my love." She was sure of it.
"But I still want to be my own man."
She smiled, of course he did!

"And you will be!" She told him and squeezed his hands again. She remembered how they were in childhood, soft as a feather and often smelling sweet from the sweet meats and tarts he would steal from the kitchens, having to do nothing more than bat his pretty eyes and make his golden curls bounce to get what he wanted. Now they were hard, calloused and smelt of leather or horses.

"You are. You simply need guidance and your uncle and I to tutor you on how to rule until you reach your majority. I will act as your regent, as your father wished, and that will allow you to be somewhat at peace while you learn. Then when you are older, you will be magnificent. Tomorrow you will be magnificent and I will be so very proud of you. I am proud now, prouder than words can say."

The pain in her heart was palpable, the muscle aching to break from her chest and wrap itself around him in the tightest embrace.

"Ma Mére...." His voice had dropped to a whisper and he hung his head "I'm scared...." Tears stung her eyes.

"Oh my sweet boy." Without hesitation she drew him down into her arms, cradling the back of his head against her shoulder. She felt his heavy breaths, the shudders that ran through his strong frame. "My dear, sweet boy, I know." She soothed, stroking his golden hair "I know....I know. And that is nothing to be ashamed of. It is your first battle and any man who tells you he was not scared before theirs is a liar." Pressing a kiss to his golden curls she drew away a little, her hands cupping hid face "Have you spoken to Richard? He will be the bearer of sturdy advice."

"I-I asked him what it was like to kill a man." She nodded, fighting for her tears not to fall.
"And?"

"He said that I would always remember the first and that my instinct to survive would overrule all else. He told me to remember why I kill, who I kill for, that it is not for pleasure but for my family, to keep them safe and my kingdom from harm."

She nodded.
"He speaks true."
"He always speaks true."
"He does."

Her hand gently stroked down his arm, squeezing at the elbow "And he will protect you on the morrow, as will many others. He, Francis, Rob, John, his George, your uncle and cousin of Suffolk , my brothers. Peter will be fighting and Charles will be praying so fiercely I think God will have much to fear if he is denied!"

"And you?" He took her hands again "Will you pray for me, Mother?" The tears surged forward, her breath shuddered. It had been such a long time....

"For you I will do anything." She whispered, swallowing before her smiled "Now, go and rest, my love." She nodded towards the camp "Try to sleep, you need your energy and a clear mind." It was unlikely he would get any true rest, even the most seasoned of warriors spent the night praying or lying awake in their bed, staring at the tent canopy. The fear of death would never evade them entirely, even if it lessened "Go, my love." She told him again and pressed a kiss to his cheek "I will see you in a few hours."

༻᯽༺

Beth was with her husband, Margaret was with her son -  Constance was alone with the prie-dieu. She stared at it, it's fine carvings, its bright paintings of Christ and his saints and glowing candle. How many times had she knelt before one such alter and prayed for one soul or another? For her children to live? Too many to count.

Fiddling with the rosary taken from her belt, she smoothed her fingers over the onyx beads, remembering what little she could of the days with her father knelt in the family chapel. He would tell her to pray at this hour, Edward had asked her to. She could not deny him.

Taking a breath, she walked to the alter and knelt before it on an embroidered cushion, looking at rhetorical golden cross above her. Wrapping the rosary around her fingers, she clasped her hand and took another breath, exhaling gently. She licked her lips then swallowed.

Would He listen?
Was He there?

"I come before you now not knowing if you are in the heavens above our heads" She said "but if you are then I ask you listen to me. I who have been your dutiful handmaid and daughter since my first breath, who have taught my children your love despite the hate you have shown me. Many a time your knife has carved out my heart, many more than the times it has been placed back" she shook her head "though I cannot love the gifts given to make it so more than I do. Now I ask for another." She had always asked, never demanded, always asked for mercy, for prosperity, never riches or glory to fulfil her own vanity. Surely He remembered that? Tears stung her eyes.

"For my son's life and victory in this coming battle, the safety of my family, the restoration of your true ordained line and banishment of evil from your kingdom. My son will lead his people into your love and light, purge the devil's brood from your land. What would you have me do so you will not take him from me?" Her voice had become a whisper, the golden cross and its glimmering jewels a blur "My son. My boy. My sweet, precious boy. What would you have me say or do to secure the steady beats of his heart?" She could feel the thud of her own. Two heavy tears rolled down her cheeks.

"That which is so precious to me I would give my own life to keep them! If that is the price you demand then let me see his victory and then take my soul. Take it to his father, mine own and my brother. If that is the price you demand then so be it. But have I not already served my penance for whichever sin I committed for my life to be so tormented, for my children's lives to be plagued with misery? Have I not served my sentence? Have I not passed your tests? Please." She begged "Let him live, let him see victory! I can guide him! I can make this land a place of such glory to your name with his victory. I can see peace from one coast to the other, that is his aim too! He desires peace and prosperity, for all war in this land to end and harbours no wish to begin others! He will be your king and I ask you to preserve his life and health in the strifes of tomorrow. Keep him safe and let him win. Let him live. Please...."

Her shoulders heaved as a sob tore from her throat and she hung her head, a hand clutching at her chest. Her tears slid down the lynx beads wound around her fingers, the droplets slipping through the cracks and soaking into the cord that bound them "Please! Please save my boy!" Looking up, eyes shining and wide, she gazed at the cross "Please, Lord." She whispered "Help me."

But as she bowed her head again a sudden warmth blossomed in her chest, spreading quickly throughout her body and filling her with a sense of peace. It made her fingertips tingle, her tears dry and cease the stream of sadness down her cheeks, pricking at her skin and making gooseflesh erupt with a shiver. She looked at the cross again and the feeling only intensified. Her lips parted but not a sound emerged. She heard the rustle of the tent flaps behind her.

"Constance?"
"Margaret!" She whispered, holding out a hand behind her, frantically beckoning. What fortune that dear Margaret would be the one to appear in that moment! "Margaret, I feel something! A warmth! I don't....I don't understand...." Her hand was grasped and then Margaret was kneeling beside her, a smile on her face and light in her eyes.

"The Lord is speaking to you!" She said, the joy in her voice palpable "He is with you, Constance!" Was he? Was it God or her own body trying to protect her from her own desperation? Stoking her flames of hope into a torrent of fire.

"He will keep my boy safe! He will keep my body safe!" Those six words she repeated over and over, squeezing Margaret's hand, staring at the cross and clutching her rosary with the strength her children clutched her heart.

She had to believe it.
Maybe then He would believe it too.