~The Battle of Middleham~

Breaking free from the crush of bodies that surrounded her, Eleanor clawed at a breath of air to fill her burning lungs. Unhorsed long ago by a Tudor soldier weirding a deadly pike, she had fought on foot for the past two hours, sword in hand and covered in the remains of her enemies.

It had all been a blur to her, a vile and gruesome blur that she knew she had to drag herself through for victory, for Richard, for her children. The thick scent of blood filled her nose, overwhelming her senses so that she almost gagged when her dagger sliced another soldier's throat and drops of warm blood sprayed onto her face.

She spat into the churned up earth, pushing her enemy away from her and watching as his twitching body turned limp. All around her men cried 'For York and Queen Eleanor' at the tops of their voices, pushing forward with with all the strength they could muster, pushing for victory, for their Queen!

She had never felt so alive yet so close to death as she did in those hours upon the battlefield of Middleham where her final fate lay dependant on an ever turning wheel of fortune.

A wheel that had so brutally crushed her husband.

But rose to astounding heights for her.

Even God seemed to smile upon the Queen of England.

The battle had been in York's favour from the very beginning, when Eleanor's army had smashed into the Tudor forces so brutally most of their mounted knights had been wiped out in the first charge! They were not faced with an army of men but of beasts, beasts with thirsty blades clamouring for blood, spurred on by their leader who appeared almost a God of death in her back iron glory.

They fell to the ground, broken and bleeding, blades thrust through their battered armour, driven deep into their flesh with the intent to tear the life from them.

Then had been the true fray, the gory struggle to gain the majority of the field where York and Tudor soldiers alike had been butchered and the earth had been stained with their blood. Gone was the lush green grass that had so blessed the scenery of Wensleydale, now it was simply a churning mass of dirt, tinted crimson by the blood that was spilled upon it, oozing from fresh corpses.

Henry Percy was dead.

He had been torn down from his horse by the vengeful Duke of Bedford who had been at Bosworth, had seen Percy watch his rightful King be butchered and had ever since hungered for revenge. Revenge he had taken in the form of thrusting his dagger through the Earl of Northumberland's throat and almost laughing when the life drained from his eyes and he could throw his body to the mud where he belonged.

With a blood curdling cry, he had raised his sword high into the air.
"Death to the traitors!" He roared and the York forces erupted into a clamour of bloodthirsty shouts that drove them forward. With one high noble dead, the final hunt had begun, a brutal game upon the field lead by the Queen and her undying hatred.

Though she knew it beyond foolish, she had cast aside her helmet long ago for she wanted her enemies to see her and not in a glittering crown. No, she wanted Tudor to see her face, Stanley to see her face, a final flash of burning red hair as she pursued them. She would press forth until she reached them, make sure that they saw her approach before hacking her way mercilessly to them.

They would be sure of death, perhaps even pray for it but she would not allow for it to be that easy.

Her hunger for revenge would not be sated with a quick death by the sword, no, she wanted to watch them suffer, she wanted to hear their screams as they met their maker.

And she would.

She would make them suffer as she had suffered, as Richard had suffered, as Rob and Jack and Francis had suffered, as her children suffered. They would feel the pain they had caused, she would repay it, she would relish it as she would relish a favourite meal, let pain devour their bodies with the same mercy they had shown those she loved.

None.

"For York! For York!"
The deafening cry went up around her and Eleanor knew she was one step closer to winning the day as her troops surged forward.

When the cry came that Thomas Stanley's brother was dead, a rush of adrenaline pumped through her veins and set her blood on fire, spurring her onwards. Another traitor dead, now onto the next. All around her, beneath her feet were the dead and the dying, their liveries torn and dirtied by the mud and blood they lay helpless in. Their heads were cut from their shoulders, arms torn from their sockets, their heads smashed in by the fatal blow an axe or mace brought.

Some had even been trampled beneath the metal, clad hooves of destrier, a horrid way to die if ever there was one that left the victim mauled beyond recognition.

Normally such a morbid sight would cause Eleanor's stomach to churn, it was certainly not for the faint hearted, but at that moment it made her almost smile and she spat into the earth again. For almost all of the dead men (despite the gore on their bodies) were wearing white and green liveries.

Tudor white and green.

"For the King!" She roared, raising her sword high into the air, thousands of voices echoed her call and in an instant she had men at her side, all covered in blood, limbs arching but no less determined than they had been when they started. Together they hacked their way through the Tudors ranks, slashing, tearing, thrusting their blades into their enemies with no mercy.

High and low, rich and poor (they were all the same to her), the enemy forces fell, crushed to dust beneath the heel of the great Yorkist army that had descended upon them like the plague. Victory was so near, the Queen could almost taste it on her tongue.

"Maman! Maman!" Her green eyes darted wildly to the side as she heard Johnny yell her name at the top of his voice; saw him pushing determinedly through his men to get to her.
"My son!" She called and immediately the men parted, letting him reach her while a force of soldiers gathered around her so that she would be protected. They did not even need orders to defend their Queen.

"We are winning!" John panted when he reached her, almost falling into her arms "we are winning, Mother"
"I know, my boy" she breathed, smoothing back his  matted and bloody mass of hair from his cut and bruised face "we must finish them and we must finish them now" he nodded enthusiastically at that, a wide grin spreading across his lips.

"I come from Georgie, Maman! He is gathering our knights and horses as we speak! He intends to lead a mounted charge to crush the last of the Tudor forces! There is just one more flank! Just one more!"

Eleanor sucked in a sharp breath. A mounted charge? Richard had staged a mounted charge at Bosworth and that had resulted in his death, almost the destruction of his country, surely there must be another way?

No, the did not have time to think, to form another plan out of thin air when one was already being carried out! They had to act quickly and one more charge could vanquish the enemy for good. After all, Richard had the Stanleys charging at him, had he not? She had victory in her sight and no surprises in store that she knew of.

At last, she nodded.
"Start up the call for the knights!" She instructed over the roar of the battle and John pulled her into a firm embrace.
"I love you, Maman" he told her and she clasped him close, running a hand through his hair "you are my Mother, you have always been my Mother"
"And you my son" she whispered before releasing him. "Now, go, John, go and let us save your Father's kingdom!"

The boy gave her one last nod before he pushed back through the men and almost immediately she heard her call for the knights being passed through her forces like wildfire! It was astonishing how quickly her men jumped to her command, how swiftly they scrambled for their horses and hauled themselves into the leather saddles.

"Fight on!" Eleanor ordered "for York!"
"For Queen Eleanor!" One cried and suddenly the whole army was chanting her name "Eleanor! Eleanor! Eleanor!" Her name was like a prayer upon their lips, as if she were a saint or even a Goddess whom they were devoted too; believed in to deliver victory.

She did not need to push her way to the back of the army where the destriers were assembling, the men parted for her and soon she was amongst her knights. Georgie clapped her on the back, letting out a loud whoop when he saw her and passed her the reins of her destrier. She was relived to see it was her beloved black beauty whom she had been unhorsed from hours ago, somehow he must have managed to get to the edge of the field!

"It is true what Richard always said!" Georgie called, mounting his horse and sending her a grin "you truly are a match for any man!"

"That I am!" She returned confidently before he raised her bloody sword into the air "now let's go and kill the last of these bastards!" John and Norfolk roared their approval as they came to her side (as did the others) and she kicked her horse into motion, guiding her charging force around the side of the battling armies.

From her new vantage point she could see the last stand of the Tudors as plain as day, a small force of foot soldiers and unhorsed nobles surrounded at every angle but a small gap at the side the Queen was determined to use. Her eyes hunted for Tudor and she cursed under her breath when she saw no standard for him.

If he were already dead she would find it bittersweet. She wanted to kill him, she wanted to watch him die! But at least her kin and her people would be safe.

She led her men around their allies, manoeuvring them so expertly any watching would have assumed she had been on a battlefield her whole life! 'I have been in a constant battle of love and  politics' she thought, unable to resist a small smile as her men rallied behind her, ready, eager, hungry for more blood. She raised her sword once more.

"For York, for England and for it's people!" She yelled, tilting her blade forward and dug her heels into the sides of her destrier. The animal leapt into motion, a thundering gallop as its hooves hammered against the earth, crushing all beneath their heavy weight.

A pounding of a countless other hooves, cries of countless other men, filled her ears, consumed her mind and bolstered her confidence so that she let out a blood curdling cry as the enemy drew closer and closer. The Tudor forces spun on their heels at the sound of the deadly mounted charge but scarce had time to think before the Yorks smashed into them with brutal force, their redheaded Queen leading them.

She struck at all that was beneath her, wielding her sword as easily as she wielded her quill, so easily the deadly movements were almost elegant. Hacking and slicing at the green and white that momentarily flashed before her eyes, she relished the sight of the Tudor colours being stained with fresh blood that spattered her and her noble steed.

"Retreat! Retreat!"

Eleanor's head shot up at the single word no commander longed to hear more. It was screeched, broken, almost as if the man who cried it out were clawing for his last breaths. The Queen hoped he was and watched as the Tudor men began to turn and run, throwing down their blades as they went. A triumphant roar erupted from the Yorkist forces and Eleanor was about to order that the remaining enemy forces be routed and killed but her men had already surged forward, waving their blades in the air.

"Retreat! Retreat!"
The desperate call came once more and the Queen watched her enemies struggle across the felid, some crawling while they bled to death in the hopes of reaching safety.

Suddenly the world around her fell silent, as if God had ceased the sounds of the entire country, letting a wave of unexplainable calm wash over her. Her heart still pounded, her hears still rang with screams, yet she found she lowered her sword and basked in the rays of almost blinding light that the sun bathed her in.

"Retreat! Retreat! The battle is lost!"

And it was at that moment, she knew she had won.

꧁꧂

As the triumphant leaders rode into the courtyard, Norfolk had approached Eleanor with an almost comical smile and informed her that a French army had arrived on the shores of Dover and were marching to the capital! But not only that, they had been sent by none other than Queen Elizabeth of France, her own dear Bess, along with her husband's blessing!

Eleanor had laughed out loud at that, crossing herself and feeling her heart fill with love for her little girl. Oh, how she loved her, she thought as she dismounted and what she would give to have her in her arms once more!

The air of the great hall was thick with the scent of blood and sweat as the victorious commanders of the battle of Middleham filled the vast chamber. Not a single Yorkist Lord had died that day, not one noble who had fought for Queen Eleanor had been sent onwards to the next life.

All of the Lancastrian nobles had been slaughtered or outside the castle walls were currently being dispatched, just like the Queen had ordered.

Outside of the hall sounded the deafening clamour of relived cries that erupted from the York forces as they celebrated their victory, the saving of their country and their King's crown.

George must be crowned soon, England must see a new age. That was the thought that lingered upon Eleanor's mind as she took her place at the head of the great table, a seat she had been beside so many times with Richard where she now perched.

Taking up the damp cloth that was offered to her by a servant, she wiped the drying blood from her face, sucking in a deep breath of fresh air while her Lords awaited her words. They all looked solely to her now and she was determined to prove a worthy leader as she had done on the battlefield.

"My Lords" she proclaimed crisply "today we have won a great victory over our enemies!" a triumphant cry erupted at the table and a hammering of fists sounded against the wood. Eleanor nodded "and I am glad to say that the Lords that stood against us have now been put to death" another approving roar "but there are four traitors with which our attention must still be claimed"

"Three, your grace" her eyes snapped to the face of John Howard as he spoke and a deep frown spread across her lips. Three? No, that could not be correct. She had demanded Jasper Tudor, Margaret Beaufort, her treacherous son and Stanley, that was four, not three. Besides, had she not been told the traitors had been captured.

"Three? What do you mean three?"
"Just what I said, your grace. It seems Henry Tudor has escaped the battlefield....but men have been sent to hunt him down, he shall not be able to run far"

Her hands clutched at the arms of her chair, so tightly her knuckles turned an alarming alabaster with rage. No her mind screamed, Tudor could not have escaped her grasp! She would have her justice, she would avenge her friends, her husband! A shaking breath passed her lips and she felt the Lords eyes upon her.

She could not show her anger now, no, she must celebrate their victory.
That and deal with the traitors they did have and deal she would, not fairly or justly but brutally.

"I see" her voice was cool, almost calm but there was no mistaking the blazing rage that filled her eyes "well then, let us turn to the....other matters at hand, do we have the others I requested brought to me?" At that, Georgie nodded enthusiastically.

"We do!" He crowed "Margaret Beaufort, her husband and the traitor Jasper Tudor are all within our custody. The men have been placed within the dungeons, the Lady, if we can even call her that, within the high tower, we thought it best to keep them separate"

"A scaffold is being built as we speak" John added, frowning when Eleanor shook her head and rose from her chair. In silence she paced to the nearest window, looking out into the courtyard where, true to his word, a scaffold was already being prepared.

Upon that platform of freshly cut wood, a block would be placed and one by one the traitors would lay their necks upon it. With any luck their heads would be severed with one swift blow of the executioner's axe but the very thought of that served to make Eleanor's stomach churn. Why should they suffer one painless blow when Richard and her friends had surely endured many fumbling, excruciating blows before they met their end?

No, she would not allow it. In years to come perhaps she would be viewed by some as a murderer, a tyrant even for the plan she was to set into motion but she did not care. Once she was dead what reason had she to care what others thought of her? She would rather have her satisfaction on Earth than worry what was thought once she had departed it!

God would not blame her, she was sure. He would have seen how much had been taken from her, how much she hurt within, no, he would not be angry with her.

Not that she would care if he was.

"I shall have a scaffold" she announced and the Lords murmured their approval "but I shall also have a stake"
Georgie's delighted hoot filled the hall and he banged his gauntleted fist upon the table.
"A stake!" He repeated "why I think that is a magnificent idea, do you not, my Lords?"

It took a few moments but one by one, the Lords began to nod and voice their own cries of approval which made Georgie and John grin. They could see Eleanor's plan as clear as day by her mere mention of a stake.

"Yes" she murmured, strolling back to her chair and sitting down "I shall have a stake" she waved her hand at a nearby servant who immediately jumped to attention "see it done" he bowed and was gone from the hall in an instant. Eleanor allowed herself to sit back a little, a small smirk curving her lips. If she could not have Henry Tudor then she would simply unleash her rage in full upon those she did have!

His time would come, she was sure of it.

Besides, they all more than deserved their deaths, she was simply repaying the harm they had done her and those she loved. Where was the wrong within that?

"And now to my son's coronation!" That brought a little more light to the table! The lords sat up in their seats, all eager to hear of what would become of their new King, even though they still mourned King Richard. All were wanting to see a new reign established and secure "it shall be a week from the day we return to London!"

"Very good" The Duke of Norfolk agreed and the others nodded, the sooner George was crowned, the better "and shall the King be present at the traitors executions, t'would be a fine way to establish his new reign" The Queen quirked an eyebrow.

"With the spilling of blood? Do you think so my Lord?"
"It would have him be seen as a man and not a boy"

Eleanor shook her head. No, while George was King he was but a child, a young boy of only just eleven who had been thrust into a position he had no wish to be in. She would not harm his innocence further by having him forced to watch her plans for the traitors seen through. Their screams would carry well enough.

She, the Queen of England would see to this task and she would relish every ounce of its bittersweet nature.

"These executions shall be overseen by me" she announced "it shall be my last act as Queen consort before I lay my crown aside....and take upon the role of Queen Regent"

"You are to be regent?"
Georgie snorted indignantly as one Lord dared to speak.

"And who would you suggest, Lord Scrope?" He asked, mockingly "Yourself?" Scrope bowed his head "Queen Eleanor is the most beloved Queen these shores have ever seen. She is adored by noble and commoner alike and has a keen mind for government and the preservation of her country which I think has been more than proved by today?" He looked around for support and Eleanor was pleased to see an approving bob of every head "besides, she is the Mother of King George which will ensure she has his best interests and the country's at heart"

"Who could doubt it?" John exclaimed, earning a loving smile from the Queen. He took up the goblet in front of him, grinning at the crimson contents before he held it high in the air "to our Queen!" he cried, prompting the others to take up their cups and follow suit.

"Our Queen!" The Lords chorused.