~Crime and Punishment~

She sat before the hearth in her nightgown and a murrey mantle, a glass of watered down wine in hand. The glowing shards of morning light had just begun to filter through the coloured glass in her chamber windows, casting beautiful shadows upon the tiled floor.

"You should have seen him!" She murmured with a smile "I know you will be proud, so proud!" There was no debate on whether she would tell Ned of their son's victory and as she drummed her fingers lightly against the side of her glass, she hoped he was there to listen "He's been injured, lost the tip of his little finger on his left hand, if you could ask the lord to heal it quickly I would be grateful!"

"Ask him yourself!" She could hear him say with a grin "He's far more likely to listen to you than me!"
"Well, yes, my love, but you are with him! And I know you'll want our boy to heal soon." He would sit in the opposite chair, head tilted, eyes alight with mirth, long legs outstretched. She could see him.

"Of course he will, he's my son! I was never weakened from injury for long was I?"
"No, you were always far too eager to get back into my bed!" Then he'd laugh; wink at her.
"Who wouldn't be? Our boy will heal, Connie!"
She knew she believed him. Edward would heal fast.

"He's a strong fighter!" She enthused "Richard said so! Cut through men like they were sheaves of wheat, just like you did! But...." A sly grin overtook her lips "he is younger than you were when you first fought, does that perhaps make him better?" The look of feigned outrage that would contort his features would send her into fits of laughter and she couldn't help a small chuckle.

"Ah, now you know I won't concede to that no matter how proud I am of him! I'll wager Dickon told you he still had much to learn too?"
"He did say he was a little too impulsive?"
Edward only shrugged at that.

"Well that's just in his blood, all York men are so!" That was true "I remember being terrified Richard was going to get himself killed at Tewksbury because he was a great warrior but my god the lad was reckless with a bravery bordering on stupidity. He managed to pull it off though, as we all do. Edward will grow, he'll learn to harness that impulse a little."

"George never learned."
"George never learned anything." He replied "Apart from how to dig his own grave." A grimness came over his features and Constance sighed, tilting her head.
"Don't do that."
"Don't do what?"
"That! We're supposed to be happy!"
"You're the one that brought dear brother George back from the grave for a moment!"

She supposed she had and raised her eyebrows in apology, taking a sip of wine.
"He's so brave, our son." She said, head lolling back a little "He will be a fine successor."
"You've told me that before, many, many times! So many times in fact one might doubt you missed me!"
Her gaze shot back to his.
"Oh how could you say that!" He was grinning "You know I miss you! I will miss you more these next years!"

"Ah, so you don't miss much much now!"
"Why, you!" Had she been able she would've reached out and slapped his arm with a laugh, shaking her head as she sat back or he pulled her onto his lap. Suddenly, she was a little sobered "I miss the feel of your arms around me." She murmured as her smile slowly fell "The dip of the bed when you'd climb under the covers. I knew exactly how long it would be until was in your embrace...."

"Now you're the one that's sad!" He laughed.
"And you're the one that's not here."
His smile vanished, disintegrating into dust like his bones would. How much of him was left in the trappings of his cold tomb? Was his hair still golden? His face still handsome - if a little too round? Or had it collapsed into a rotting pile of flesh?

They stared at one another, faces blank, eyes shining in the firelight "I love you, you know that, don't you?"
He nodded.
"Of course."

"Then you know how much I miss you." Her voice trembled, her lower lip too, wobbling like a child's while tears pricked her eyes. How she craved his touch, just a brush of his fingers against her cheek, his lips against her hair or hand on her waist. A second where he was not a vision in her head but flesh and bone again, warm and real. Just for a moment, that was all she asked, just for a moment "I miss you and-"

"Constance?"

Her eyes snapped shut and she covered her mouth with a hand, forcing herself to take steady breaths as light footsteps and the rustle of a silk skirts headed towards her. "Connie?"
"Yes Beth?" She looked up, blinking, voice composed. Edward was gone. "Yes, what is it?"

"The King has sent for you."
The King - that brightened her heart a little! How she loved to hear it!
"The King." She breathed "Well then, where is Margaret? Still at chapel with her son?" Beth nodded, fetching a gown of deep purple samite with gold damask and Constance rose from her chair, casting a glance to the one Edward had been in.

"I'm surprised you're not still abed, many still are and rightfully so! There shall be more than a few sore heads and queasy stomachs."
"I wished to pray!" Beth replied as she deftly laced her black kirtle then helped her step into her gown "I have much to thank the lord for this day" She eased the luxurious cloth over Constance's arms, settling it on her shoulders "That I get to see it is a blessing all its own." She set to lacing it "Have you? Given thanks yet?"

She didn't think she'd ever given so much thanks in all her life, even when her Edward was born! Once the girls were abed and she retired to her chamber she'd spent many hours on her knees, rosary wrapped around her fingers, tears on her cheeks, thanking the Lord. He'd listened, she believed, he'd listened to her and delivered her son safely (for the most part) to her waiting arms and his throne.

Their success had been one of such magnitude that there had to be an element of divine intervention, hadn't there? Their enemies vanquished in a morning, the usurper killed, his kin and allies captured, the majority of Edward's men saved from death despite the brutal fight they faced! Yes, it had to be Him she told herself.

And she would give thanks each day to come in her diligence in shaping her son's reign, keeping England safe from harm. She would work tirelessly to see her promises fulfilled and Edward's reign blossom! Not only for God but for every man who'd fought for her son below Sutton Bank. She knew not most of their names or faces but she would remember them, for the remainder of her life she would remember them, and if any ever needed aid, including the families of the fallen, they had only to come to her and she would ease their pain.

What comfort could she give Rob's widow?

"If there is time today I will go to the chapel and offer such thanks the like of which have never been heard!" She felt Beth smile behind her.
"Yes they have, from every mother whose son returns to her after battle!" And husband.
"Do you....miss Edward?" The hands on her back stilled a moment before continuing the last of their work.

"Every day, Con." She picked up an ivory comb, drew it gently through Constance's hair "He was my brother. As was George." It stilled "As was Edmund. I miss them all, despite their faults."
"Edmund had none."
Beth inhaled a shaking breath and her hand's found her sister's shoulder's squeezing gently as her chin came to rest on the left.

"He didn't have time to garner any."
Constance shook her head. No he hadn't.
"No....poor boy."
"Yes...." Beth's hands were gone and the comb at work again, the light tone returned to her voice with a determination running beneath it "but your boy is not to be called poor. Not anymore. He is rich in power and victory."

"And bears the weight of the country."
"With you and Dickon to help him shoulder it!" She said "And who could be more blessed than that?"

༻᯽༺

He'd decided long before the battle that they would die. Every lord, knight and peasant who fought for the usurper would die. There would be no mercy. He had none to give. This was their punishment, their payment for their crimes and he would see the debt of treason collected in full with their blood.

No words could save them, no titles or claims of kinship; past loyalties - he was surprised no one had claimed Elizabeth bewitched them yet! One traitor had already been dispatched for him, although he couldn't deny he'd felt a little disappointed when the body of Tomas Grey was brought to him after the battle.

Still, there was some satisfaction in having his head torn off and stuck on a spike in the marketplace. He'd been told the villagers had been throwing rotten food and animal shit at it all night.

What to do with those who'd licked the traitor's boots only to stay secure in their castles when called to his banner, he didn't yet know. There would be punishment, yes, but he didn't know how far to go.

It would have been easy to declare their deaths and leave the individual sentences up to his uncle but that would not do in his mind, no. He wanted to hear every one of their names, end each one of their lives with the parting of his lips, look upon each of their faces when they ascended the scaffold.

It was a bleak task and, after the revels of the night before, made harder by tired eyes and an aching head, but still he fought on, sitting behind a great desk in the solar with Richard perched on the right end and Francis on the left. They were among the very few his fragile constitution could stomach that morning and would not be too embarrassed to throw up last night's indulgences before.

"Who is next?" He asked, thumb and forefinger rubbing his brow. Francis looked at the list he held, eyes quickly skimming down the page of scrawled black swirls until he found his place.

"Thomas Stanley." Ah, that wiry bastard.
He hummed and leant back in his chair, resting his hands on the arms.

"Both he and his brother are notorious for their trickery, one brother on each side of the battle so a Stanley is always wearing the winning colours." He gave a small sigh, grumbling to himself. It was a foul way to play at life, a rather clever one yes, but made the player void of all honour and decency in Edward's eyes. Irked fingers drummed on the uneven wood beneath them "I would brook no such devils in my kingdom but Sir William was loyal to my father and he did fight for me during this battle. His brother, however, shall die a traitor's death and be hung drawn and quartered. Unless," He glanced questioningly between the two men "his lady wife has made a plea for mercy, then he may merely suffer the axe for she is a good woman of God and did bring men to my cause including her own son"

However merciless and cruel he felt, he would not ignore Lady Margaret's word, especially since he was about to make her a traitor's widow. He reminded himself to provide well for her, perhaps her husband's lands should become her own? A fine reward for her loyalty to his beloved mother and to him? He would ask Constance her thoughts on that, she'd know best.

At his question Richard shook his head then Francis did the same. Good Edward thought and decided he'd reward Margaret all the more for that.

"She has not, your grace."
"So be it." He replied, shrugging "And no ceremony today, Dickon, I've told you, my mind cannot take it." Where Richard would've usually laughed, he didn't and Francis only managed a small smile.

They were both depleted in sprits but who could blame them? Their loyal trio had lost a precious limb, leaving both of their heart's bleeding. It was best to carry on with business lest he allow his to do so again. "Now, what of Stanley's two sons?" He recalled meeting them once, the lords Strange and Monteagle - their brother James was a clergyman "They fought with their Father, did they not?"

"They did." Confirmed Richard.
"Then they shall both join him upon the scaffold. They are my second cousins through my grandmother the Duchess Cecily's sister and yet they betrayed their blood. Due to them being my kin, and for my esteemed Grandmother's sake, they shall die on the block"
"Very well" Next to their names, Francis noted their fates down, deaths decided with the stroke of his quill.

There was to be a trial around midday but everyone knew it wouldn't make a difference to the King's word. And he'd thought of others to speak.

"They shall die before their father." He declared "He will watch his line end."
Richard and Francis glanced at one another, an unspoken agreement passing between them.
"As you wish." Said the latter and attended to his list again "As you know, the usurper was slain bravely by yourself but his traitor uncle, Anthony Woodville, has been captured and awaits your judgement. His brother, Richard, was killed on the field with Grey."

That left only their sisters to deal with. Anne and Eleanor were about to be made windows. He'd find nunneries for them and warships with loyal men for their children. Edward's jaw clenched.

"Fetch him to me." He said.
"Anthony Woodville?" Richard exclaimed.
"Who else? I have words to say to him. I'd like him to hear his fate from my own lips. I want to see the colour drain from his face."

No further protest was offered and Francis dispatched to fetch the traitor, only to be quickly replaced by Constance who came before the desk and offered a small curtsy.

"No ceremony, Mother." Edward said and Richard sent her a small smile of welcome as she rose.
"You sent for me, Edward?"
"Yes!" He motioned for her to join him behind the desk and welcomed her warm kiss to his brow with a grin.

"How are you feeling, my love? Not too sick I hope?"
"Oh, no no!" He replied, waving away her worries despite the dizziness in his head. She chuckled, rubbing his shoulder.
"And your finger?"
"Painful but not greatly so. I only ask no one touches it! I made that mistake when I woke!"
"I'm surprised you slept! I envisioned you dancing until dawn with your young beauty. Mistress Jane was very affable. And very beautiful."

A knowing smirk curved Richard's lips.

"She is, isn't she?" Edward replied airily "A true rose amongst the thorns of this world." That was certainly one way to put it, Constance thought.
"The two of you disappeared from the feast last night. I suppose...."

His head swung up, eyebrows raised and a crimson flush staining his cheeks.
"If you're going to ask if I bedded her, Mother, then the answer is no!" He proclaimed "I have more sense than that even when flying high on the wings of victory!" He scoffed a laugh and turned forward again - though did not appear irritated by her questioning "I kissed her and a little more. That is all. Her virtue is intact and so is my conscience."

She'd thought as much but couldn't ignore the knot of worry untying in her gut.
"I am glad to hear it."
"Will she attend court?"
"Oh, Richard!" She certainly didn't want to think about that! But Edward didn't appear unnerved.

"Her father fought for me, he and all his kin shall always be welcome at my hearth and table." He replied then glanced up as if the thought were nothing more than a trifle "That reminds me, I must draw up a list of men to be knighted!" It was better than clear eagerness, she supposed.
"For the battle or your coronation?"
"Both."

The muffled rattle of chains took their attention and Edward suddenly brightened a little, bringing his hands down lightly on the table surface with a grin "Ah! Here comes the reason for your summons, Mother." He looked at her again "I thought you would like this."

The door was thrown open and Francis strolled in, two guards behind him and between them, held fast by brutal hands was Anthony Woodville. His shirt was torn, his feet bloodied and cut to shreds by the walk from the battlefield. His lip was cut and swollen, his right eye almost black and the eyeball bloodshot. His face was dirty and hair tangled, brown and red covering the usually golden locks.

While Francis went to Richard's side, Anthony was thrown to the floor before the desk, forcing a groan from his lips. Edward tilted his head, smirking, though his eyes smouldered in their sockets.

"Ah, Woodville!" He said "I've awaited this day for many moons, as have my kin. I assume you remember my mother? The Queen Regent?" When he didn't move, one of the guards grabbed the back of his neck, forcing him upright. His eyes found her, she sucked in a sharp breath.

Of all the Woodville brood he was the only one she'd believed was different from the rest, never failing to bow in her presence, address her with respect, lower his eyes as if apologising on Elizabeth's behalf. When Warwick first rebelled he'd knelt at her feet and kissed her hand, swearing he wished to be her friend and ally.

She should've known better than to believe he was any different than his kin.

"I thought we had an accord, Anthony." She said, hand tightening on Edward's shoulder "That we had an agreement. You once swore that you wished to be my friend instead of my enemy and yet you've proven falser than the devil."

"You would go to any lengths to protect your family," His voice was raw and pained, she wished it was more so "I only did the same." How could he believe that? How could he believe he'd protected them? He was an intelligent man, how could he have let his sister's lies delude him so? Even now it seemed!

"I would've given them protection!" She cried, stepping around the desk towards him "You have only given them death!"
"You would've never protected them." He spat "You would've never protected Lizzie."
"I would've! For the sake of her children I would have! For the sake of Edward's wishes I would have! She wouldn't have been welcome at court but I would've kept her safe, comfortable! And her boys by the late king too!"

She could've never loved Arthur and Anthony, never enjoyed them in her presence but she would've seen them given what their father wished! What they deserved as his blood! "Now three of Elizabeth's four sons are dead. Your brother was killed in battle yesterday. Your sisters are to be made widows, their children raised apart from their mothers and one another. And my son is king!"

"I am." Edward said "And will remain so while I cut out your family by the roots and burn them." Anthony let out a roar and tried to stand only to be shoved roughly down again, chains rattling "By the time the sun sets today, you will be dead but not before I've heard you scream as your entrails are dragged from your body."

Anthony's gaze shot to his and for a moment, the hardness of his face cracked, worry clouding his eyes.

"W-what are you going to do with young Anthony?"

Edward's smirked almost turned into a grin, the curved corners of his mouth sharp as knives, and he leant forward with a precise pleasure, hands knitting together, his arms coming to rest on the desk.
"Well." He said, a malicious lightness to his voice "That remains to be seen."
"He had no part in this!" He was told hurriedly, Anthony kneeling up a little more though it clearly caused him pain "No part at all!"

"You mean to tell me, a man older than I, who has raised an army, lead an army, fought and won a battle and will now rule, had no part in your treason? Is he a simpleton?" It would've been better if Anthony agreed but he shook his head in earnest.
"He is a sweet boy! Innocent of all crimes but his blood and loyalty."

Edward laughed and looked to the people about him, shaking his head at his prisoner's declaration.
"That was the crime of my uncle James yet that did not save him from the axe, did it? Or William Hastings. Why should he be spared?"
"He is a boy!"
"I am not and nor is he." Edward spat hatefully, the humor in his face gone in a blink "You will not live long enough to hear of his fate but do not hesitate to wait for him in hell." Glaring at him for a moment longer, he finally waved a dismissive hand "Take him away."

"Do prepare a greeting in hell for your dear sister!" Richard called as he was dragged from the room, shouting protests, begging for his nephew's life. It filled Edward with a wicked satisfaction "You never know it may not be so awful for her there, she can whore herself to the devil!" Anthony was pulled from sight, leaving only the echos of his desperate yells. Constance nodded, looking back at her son. He was gripping the arms of the chair, knuckles white with forced restraint despite his pleasure.

"Well done." She murmured and he nodded, staring furiously at the door as if Anthony was still at the threshold, his smile gone.
"He will die." He muttered darkly "And each of his cries with ignite my soul with joy." With that he pushed his chair back with a hissed sigh, turning away to the oriel window behind and folding his arms "They will all die."

"Even the usurper's brother?" Francis asked.

A beat of silence.

"Who is next?" Was all Edward said "We must get this done."

༻᯽༺

Once the traitors fates were decided, Edward dismissed them and Constance went to her daughters, Francis to the market square to oversee the building of three scaffolds, two with gallows atop them. Richard would shortly join him but at they headed down the castle steps to their horses, something had told him to turn back.

He was right to heed it.

When he entered the solar, Edward was curled up in the right corner of the oriel window, legs bent, drawn to his chest, head buried in his knees and body quacking with heaving sobs. Richard's heart ached. He'd told Anthony he wasn't a boy, he'd told his nephew that and yet, when he saw him then, there could be no denying his youth.

He shut the door quietly but it was enough to alert Edward whose head shot up, revealing a red face and wide, teary eyes; a trembling lower lip. He tried to sit up straight, to sniff and wipe his tears away but Richard went to his side, sat at his feet and when he opened his arms, Edward came into them, grasping onto his doublet, hiding his face in the shoulder as a renewed wave of cries assailed him.

How much weighed on him at just fourteen, it was a wonder it did not crush him.

"I know...." Richard whispered, tenderly holding the back of his head "I know, Neddy. All is well, I'm here." He loved this boy as his own. He'd raised him, taught him all he knew, watched him grow day by day and now couldn't bear to see him in pain, unable to halt his own tears that appeared because of it.

"I want him back...." Edward sobbed "I want Rob to come back! I should've done something! I should've saved him!" Richard shook his head. He'd had similar feelings when one of his squires was struck down by his side at Tewksbury but this form of hindsight forgot the heat of battle, the clawing need to survive that drove almost all other thought from the mind.

He couldn't have stopped and saved their friend! In doing so he would've likely killed himself and how could Rob have been healed with an arrow to the throat? Only God could perform such a miracle and while Edward wad king he was not God.

"There was nothing you could have done." He told him gently "When that arrow struck there was no saving him and in trying to do so you would've committed suicide. Would Rob have wanted that?"
"B-but I could have tried, I should have tried!"
"No, my lad, you fought on which is just what Rob would've wanted you to do and while we weep for his passing you know he's with the Lord! You know in your heart he knows no more pain or suffering and will be rejoicing with your father at your victory!"

But Edward did not stop crying.
"He should be here." He croaked and Richard knew what he needed was not reason but comfort.

And so he held him with all the tenderness a father could and let him sob into his doublet while silent tears wet his own cheeks.

༻᯽༺

Edward watched the executions with a silent relish from his throne upon the platform erected for the royal spectators, fingers balled into fists. He didn't smile at the jeers of the crowd or the cries of excruciating pain torn from the traitors lips, he only stared at them, at each of their faces until their screams ceased and their heads were stuck on spikes.

He watched Thomas Stanley weep for his sons with a stony stoicism as they lay their heads on the block and they were stuck off, falling in a pool of blood, bodies jerking. He ignored the prisoners last pleas for mercy, ignored their desperate attempts. When Anthony Woodville's turn came, still stayed silent, only tilting his head as he watched his entrails being pulled from his body.

He had nothing to say to him or any of them for that matter and when it was done, he at last smiled with a sigh and stood from his throne. Nodding, he turned to his mother and offered her his hand, leading her back to the castle where he retired to his chambers and wrote a letter to Anne.

'Come to England' It said 'and I will give you your crown.'