Like Fire and Powder (Violent Delights Book 18)

Chapter 12: the engagement according to Elizabeth of York

"Are you—completely—mad?"
I told Cecily about my feelings for Henry.
"No, like, are you complete mad?"
It's been three hours.
"Yes I probably am," I sigh, lying backward on our bed, "But what am I going to do?"
"Have you gone mad?" She asks, standing over the bed. This is her processing. I didn't know it would take three hours.
"I love him. I don't want to. I can't help it," I sigh, "I know what he is and I don't care. That's what makes it so terrible."
"He's ugly!"
"I know."
"And a Lancaster, basically."
"I know."
"And responsible even indirectly for so many deaths!"
"I know, I know I'm not enjoying this," I sigh, sitting up, "But Cece I am going to marry him anyway."
"Yes, but you don't have to like him."
"But apparently I do," I sigh, arm over my face, "This is painful for me as well you know."
"He's a monster."
"I know. I know all right? I'm telling you the truth because—I don't have anyone else. And it's too painful to keep locked up. And I'm going to need your help."
"Okay," she nods.
"Just like that?"
"You're my sister. Everything is just like that. I will always help you. No matter how terrible it all is," she say, folding her arms, "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know. I have to find a way to live with all of it. I don't know what that is."
By the second week of November I have a plan. I know that I need to find some way to live with it all. We both do.
And so I go to see Henry in his office, after Parliament is over. That takes some doing because a couple of his men are a bit against it, or supposed to stop me, or something of that kind.
"My lady you aren't to go in there—,"
"Thank you so much! Have a pleasant evening!" I say, merrily, curtseying a little and just walking directly past them.
"No—really—my lady he said to not let anyone in—,"
"Thank you! Good night!"
I walk directly in without knocking. Apparently what Henry found so important was sneezing multiple times in a row, mopping his face, and drinking wine while three dogs look at him with concern.
"What are you doing here? I gave orders—,"
"Because you look more like you've got sweating sickness than you usually do despite not having sweating sickness?" I ask, hands on hips.
"Yes actually. Are you all right?" He asks, still mopping his face.
"I'm fine. Yes, I wanted to talk to you," I say, "About us."
"I'm going to ask you to leave."
"That's not funny," I say, struggling not to laugh.
"It was a bit, sorry carry on," he says, sitting down in his chair and motioning for me to sit as well. I don't.
"After the wars we both—have history. You've seen battle I have not I know things from my father's court but—nothing we do now is going to change the past. If we are going to move forward with this arrangement as we've agreed is mutually beneficial, then I think the best course of action is that we agree to be honest with each other. I can't go on wondering who you—killed personally, or what you simply knew of, or were complicit in, or whatever. And I'll gladly tell you what I knew of at the time, that my family, mostly my father, did. Does that sound fair?" I ask.
"Yes, we can't start this marriage with lies. And it's all past now, no you're right," he shakes his head a little.
"There's been too many secrets, both of our lives. We are well aware it was a war and we were on opposite sides of it, we didn't choose that," I say.
"You can't hate me, I couldn't bear that," he says, looking down at his fingers.
"I already hate you. I just love you anyway," I say, coming around the desk to kiss him. He lets me, gently tugging me into his lap.
"Just you. Not your mother, your sister can come if she likes. I'll tell you everything. Just so you can mentally prepare that's going to involve my uncle he has more information than I do, also probably my mother because she knows some things I don't," Henry says, rubbing my back a little, "And you can never tell anyone."
"No, I know. This is just for me, for us. You deserve the same. Because imagination is worse than the truth," I say.
I begin to doubt that statement the moment our meeting starts.
Henry arranges for us all to talk one night well after supper is ended, up in his private rooms. He does as promised invite his uncle and his mother. I choose to come alone.
And I regret the entire decision when I enter to find his uncle just sitting there, so comfortably, leaning back in a chair and filling up multiple cups of wine lined up in a row next to him.
I really want to know why he's doing that but I also don't speak to him as a rule.
Thankfully, Lady Margret has the same concern.
"Why are you fill up—seven cups of wine?" She asks, slowly, sitting down.
"Because over the next couple of hours I am going to want more wine than one little cup, but if I'm sitting here just calmly refilling my cup while several people are crying, it would look insensitive. Therefore," he gestures vaguely to the line of cups.
"Wait, that could be smart," Henry says, frowning a little.
"It feels wrong but I don't know why. Oh well," Lady Margret gives up on her brother in law.
"So he's getting drunk?" I ask.
"No," the other two say, shaking their heads.
"That won't get him drunk. Trust me," Henry says, taking two of the cups for himself, his uncle stares at him. He slowly pushes one back. Lady Margret looks at the exchange with general disappointment. This may be worth coming.
The men are clearly negotiating if the king should get more wine cups for himself using only brief eye contact, and Lady Margret and I watch this for a moment before she decides to be mature.
"My son explained that we are all here, because you suggested that in order for us all to—get on—moving forward it would be best if nothing was left up to speculation. Given I've been at court, as you have, I know much the same as you though admittedly my speculation is more accurate," she says, glancing over at the men who finally finished looking into each other's eyes and settled eight cups of wine for Jasper and one for Henry, which is how they started but they've calmly and silently swapped about four cups.
"Right, so, the war is over I understand that. But we've all lost someone. Admittedly I probably don't know as much as you do considering I was a child for much of it. However, I'll gladly tell you anything you want to know," I say, shrugging.
Jasper shrugs a bit, I'm not sure what the look means but he says nothing, just picking up a cup of wine and drinking the entire thing.
"Do you know what happened—you don't have to raise your hand," I say, wincing, as Jasper just raises his hand while picking another cup of wine. "I didn't even finish yet."
"He'll keep his hand up the whole time," Henry says, massaging his forehead.
"Go on. Finish," Jasper says, calmly.
"Why are you all right telling me the truth?" I ask. We both know he's a chief liar.
"Because nobody is ever going to believe you," he says, finally looking at me, voice dangerous, and terribly cold. I realize as he says it it's a completely different accent than the one I've heard from him. It's nearly welsh, and low, but there's some French there, light on the vowels. Over all it's entirely unmissable and nearly haunting. No wonder he usually masks it.
"You know you could have I said 'I trust you'," Henry breaths, hand still over his face. His accent is purely french, now, which is odd compared to what he uses in court. It's what he uses when we're alone, so I'm accustomed to it.
"I said very specifically 'all right if we're doing this are we lying?' and you spoke for upwards of an hour that the purpose was not tell lies. Many. That I can help," his uncle says.
"I said 'at all' but we're going to leave it," Henry says, rubbing his face.
"My only point is that we're never really going to know what's true do we? You can't fully believe me because of who I am so what value is there in the truth if it can't believed?" Jasper asks, idly.
"Yes there's value, it's still true," I said.
"But if you believe it to be false, or think it could be false, it becomes just another story doesn't it? The truth dies with all of us," he says.
"I want to know what happened to my brothers. I know you know," I say.
He nods, picking up another cup of wine.
"They were murdered, Richard had the assassin killed," Lady Margret says, frowning at her brother in law, "Oh you know?"
"I know everything. I don't recommend it."
Henry says nothing.
"Oh you know as well?" I ask.
"I know what he told me later," Henry says.
"I had a contact whom I contracted to remove Richard from the throne. At the time my concern was that if he were to die his son would be on the throne, which was another complication for us, as deposing a ten year old isn't very noble it would be a trick to make that look good," Jasper says, calmly as if he were explaining the state of the weather.
"Then how did my little brother's throats wind up being cut?" I growl.
"My directive was to heavily discredit Richard, or kill Richard, and clear the path for the throne. Richard was nearly discredited anyway it wasn't honestly going to be that hard to start the odd rumor, frame him for a murder or three, then call into question his child's legitimacy. I had relatively little concern for your brothers, they were like yourself already considered illegitimate, I was going to cross that road when I came to it. My agent decided that killing the boys, leaving the blood on Richard's hands, and possibly killing Richard in retaliation, was the better move. It was not but then that's what happens when my instructions are not followed," Jasper says, coolly, only minor annoyance at his plan going wrong. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry or I cared. I don't. I was annoyed it didn't work. Richard covered up the boys' deaths marvelously for himself and I lost my contact. I just assume to Richard's knife."
"Yes. Personally," I say.
Jasper nods, finishing another cup of wine.
"You knew?" I look at Henry.
"He told me basically that. As he said your brothers were not the target they honestly weren't going to be a concern till we landed," Henry says.
"Same as you, and we're keeping you about," Jasper says, nearly pleasantly.
"I did not know that one. I did think it was him however," Lady Margret says.
"Oh, thanks," Jasper says.
"It was completely you!"
"No, no, my plan was better than that," Jasper says, "That was stupid, and it didn't have the desired effect which I could have foreseen which is why it wasn't my plan. Anyway, if you're good on that— next question?"
"Is this all going to be just him?" I ask, pointing at Jasper.
The other two nod.
"They know some things," Jasper says, shrugging.
"But you did them," I say.
"Depends on what you're asking."
"Were you there when my grandfather was killed?"
"No, Wakefield you mean? I was with the Lancasterian forces, myself and the Duke of Exeter, we were to remain with the Queen and the prince, in case our plan failed that time the plan didn't fail because people followed instructions," he says.
"Elaborate," I say.
"The Yorks left Sandal castle, leaving them open to be slaughtered," Lady Margret says, "Your father was acting as a field force and could have made it to relieve them if they'd waited. They did not wait."
"My father always said they were driven out," I say.
"No. They left voluntarily when they thought reinforcements were coming and they saw a little army camped out in the open," Jasper says.
"What?" I ask.
"So Harry and I had had some York colors for ages and nothing to do with them—,"
"What is it with you and putting people in wrong colors?" I ask. I know he did it at Bosworth.
"Fucking works?" Jasper shrugs, "Anyway, the rest of the men were hidden in the trees, York thought he could get out and the relatively small army was no threat. Turned out the reinforcements were our men in his colors. As I said I wasn't even there I just happened to have been collecting those, well, Harry and I had, and we figured we may as well use them."
"That's not honorable," I say.
"I don't care it's staying alive," Jasper says, not at all offended, "I'll be dishonorable. I'll also be the last man standing."
"And my uncle George?"
"Who—? Oh yes Duke of Clarence I didn't ever really like him. He helped us a little I was surprised your father actually killed him. I wasn't going to by the way, I was trying to seduce him back to my side to be honest not because I trusted him I was just bored and he was malleable," Jasper says.
"You said you weren't doing that," Lady Margret breaths.
"Our letters were being intercepted then, sorry, I meant to retract it."
"Intercepted by whom?"
"Oh my god uncle I told you to quit talking to him," Henry groans while Jasper points at him.
"I'm glad we could do this," I say, quietly.
"You're not very surprised," Lady Margret says.
"From the first day I met him I assumed he was guilty of everything," I say, as Jasper finishes another cup of wine.
"That I am," he says, not concerned, "You going to ask me about your father?"
"My father died of fever," I say.
"Her father died of fever," Henry says.
"Was I paying poisoners? Yes. Is there a poison made from fermented pig's blood that mimics illness and fever? Yes. Did it work? I don't really know I never heard from the poisoner again he died of poison. Nice man," Jasper says, calmly.
"You didn't tell me that one!" Henry groans.
"I only told you the ones I knew worked we agreed on that we have limited time," Jasper says.
"We talk to each other all the time!"
"You—might have murdered my father?" I ask again.
"Not personally. But sure. Yes. I do not care. Your father, and both your uncles, were the ones who cut off my father's head. Didn't ransom him. Didn't keep him captive. He was an old man. And they cut off his head and put it on display like he was a traitor, when he was simply serving his king. I'm not saying that because I'm angry. I can't be angry anymore or sad I've used it all up. It's just a game now. And I play it well. That's all. Your father entered the game I may be the reason he's no longer on the board. Because by murdering my father, and then my brother, he chose to play against me. Poor move," Jasper says, leaning back in his chair.
"At least he died with my mother at his side," I say, quietly. It was illness, or he thought it was. It was peaceful. Better than beheaded, body desecrated. Somehow I cannot feel anger, just emptiness. Like we're all empty now. He's right it really doesn't matter anymore. It's all just a game and he's the winner. But there's no pleasure even in that.
"To be perfectly clear, I don't blame you for your father's actions. I don't really care I know for a fact you were a child neither one of you asked for any of this. You can blame me for my actions or hate me that's your right. Now, I know you may not know any of this but, two things I never could find out, with all my spies," Jasper says.
"Go on," I nod.
"Do you know what became of the Duke of Exeter? I know you said you knew he was married to your aunt," he asks, coolly.
"I know she divorced him. That's all," I say, "I think he was a prisoner? I don't know I'm sorry."
"This would have been ten years ago, he pledged loyalty to your father and they put him on a ship for France," Lady Margret says, "My spies said he was thrown in the channel."
"I don't know," I say, shaking my head, "I heard nothing, they'd not talk about that sort of thing around me."
"What about my brother the king?" Jasper asks, but his voice nearly burns on the word brother. Because king or no that was first and foremost his brother. His murdered brother.
"I was in the Abby as you know when you took back over," I say.
He nods.
"After that my father came and got us out. We were all here for a period. I know my mother asked him what he was going to do with the old king," I say, "That he couldn't leave him in the Tower. But they told me what they told everyone. That he'd died of melancholy."
"He was fine," Henry says, quietly, tears are in his eyes.
"I know," I say. "I didn't believe it then. I'll tell you now I know nothing, but I do truly believe somehow my father had him killed.  My father had no access to poisoners, that was George. And Richard, who was the clever one, wanted no part of it. He was pious, chivalrous. He was in favor of leaving him in the Tower in care. But as ever Richard went home to York. And then the old king died. I know Richard asked my father about it but he'd admit nothing. Richard clearly thought he was lying, so did I for that matter. Richard had him reburied when he became king. He said it was wrong, to treat a good Christian like that. He didn't care about killing in war I don't suppose but the old king was not a warrior."
"He was," Jasper says, tears in his eyes as well, "Thank you."
"I wish I knew the truth, I don't," I say, looking at Lady Margret.
"I knew less than that," Lady Margret says, shaking her head, "We did assume it was foul play."
"Given Richard's reaction, as well as my father's indifference, yes I do expect it was," I say.
Henry shrugs a little, but his face is stone.
"Considering you possibly had my father poisoned, what of—anyone else we might have thought died of disease was the disease in fact—you?" I ask Jasper.
"Ah—no. I did help start the rumors that Anne and the little boy died by Richard's hand, but that was not me," Jasper says, nearly cheerfully.
"All right then," I say, putting a hand to my face, "Can I have some of that wine—?"
"No," Jasper says at the same time Lady Margret says, "Yes". He hands me a cup as he says it though.
"What about Prince Edward? My cousin, not your brother," Henry clarifies, with is rather nice, "I know he fell at Tewksbury but our reports were—vague."
"All I know for sure is the same, he died at Tewksbury. I can tell you what Richard told me and my little brothers," I say.
"Please," Henry says.
"I need a pause—why did he just tell you this? What was the setting?" Jasper asks.
"He was avoiding talking to people which was his chief occupation at large gatherings, my brothers were asking him for war stories, specifically they wanted to know how the last Lancaster prince fell, because our father had deferred them to him for the story since Richard was there. We were underneath a table, eating sweets, that's the specific setting," I say.
Jasper nods like that makes sense. Lady Margret looks confused. Henry looks a little confused but like he also isn't going to ask about it.
Lady Margret chooses to ask, "Why does the setting matter?"
"She's telling us it second hand. So. Might be significant, as to how truthful it was," Jasper says.
"Right it was to us children so it wasn't official word or anything. That said Richard wasn't particularly deceitful, as a rule, however," I say.
"No we understand," Henry says, "Go on."
"He described the battle to us, much to my brothers's delight. I confess I cannot relay all of that I simply don't remember," I say.
"We had reports," Jasper nods.
"He said the other commanders were dehorsed and killed in the ensuing foot-battle. My father and Richard eventually found the prince on the field. He'd been struck by four or five arrows, but he was still fighting. My father told him to surrender, and yield. He would not. He challenged my father to combat, for the crown. He was already bleeding out, and one of his eyes had been put out, I believe by an arrow. He only had a dagger to fight with, and one of his arms was crushed probably from his horse, same with a leg. My father cut him down with his great sword," I say.
Henry nods, wiping his face with one hand. His eyes usually water but this is clearly tears.
"Richard described it as an honorable death, respecting his spirit. For whatever that's worth," I say, "Apparently my father told Queen Margret that he died fighting, not elaborating on how long he survived. Richard said this in taking issue with in that he thought it was noble to die how he did. Still trying to fight."
"Queen Margret told me that, I didn't think he'd fall in battle. My brother once took an arrow to the neck, and simply, walked away and found aid," Jasper says, smiling a little, "My brothers' father, the old king, they say he also took an arrow to his head somehow and lived through it."
"I knew about the arrow to the neck. The incident disturbed my father and Warwick, so much, they'd argue if the prophesies were true and the son of Henry the Fifth could not be killed by mortal men," I say.
Jasper starts laughing and covering his face.
"He made up those prophesies," Henry says, unblinking.
"He told you about that?" Lady Margret asks, leaning to look at her son.
"He didn't have to. I know him," Henry shakes his head no.
"He's my brother my option to make up things about him," Jasper says, recovering a little.
"Please don't start rumors about me," Henry says.
Jasper picks up another cup of wine and downs it.
"What, you already have?" Henry asks.
"Of course he has," Lady Margret says.
"Jesus, uncle, it's been like three months," Henry says.
"I'm not responsible for what I say when you put me in the middle of court very simple rules for every Henry and Margret, don't put a Jasper in the midst of people he doesn't really like if you don't want lies," Jasper says.
Henry starts singing quietly in Welsh.
"Don't you dare," Jasper says, leaning to cover his nephew's mouth.
"What is it?" I ask, looking at Lady Margret.
"Don't look at me—what are you two doing? Jasper, he has enough trouble breathing as it is," Lady Margret says, just kind of punch Jasper's arm as he covers Henry's mouth.
"Something he promised not to repeat," Jasper says, as his nephew escapes him.
"I absolutely never promised that. I would never promise that. I bring it up in unrelated conversations. I'm hiring Llwellyn permanently to sing these at every party. Here's a translation, ignore that it doesn't rhyme it sounds lovely in Welsh. 'Jasper will build for us a dragon, of the fortunate blood of Brutus he, a Bull of Anglesey to achieve, He is the hope of our race'," Henry barely gets through it with a straight face.
"What?" I laugh.
"When I was living in Wales I paid a couple of bards because that's what you do—well," Jasper shrugs.
"We went into exile, he primarily became very popular in folk tales and the like, there are more, I've memorized all of them, they make me very happy," Henry is still laughing.
"Imagine walking into a town in disguise, and all of a sudden you hear three people doing a bloody play about your life, highly fictionalized," Jasper says, clearly pretending to be cross, "Oh, Elizabeth, they call me 'the Bull' in Wales, 'Twr' it's just what they did I don't strictly know why that's why that's in there the blood of Brutus and dragon I don't—know what that was."
"My father paid those bards to sing about him," I say.
"Well congratulations, it apparently did not work," Jasper says.
"I didn't know about this," Lady Margret says.
"That's because he's suppressing the information," Henry says, coughing now he was laughing so hard.
"Right so, apparently I have to go and convince the entire court that there is another Jasper all these welsh bards are singing about, I have my identity to maintain," Jasper says, about to get up, "Are we finished here?"
"I do have one more question, actually, but the two of you can choose not to answer if you want," I say.
"Right," Henry says, probably guessing what I'm going to ask.
"I'll do it," Jasper says.
"You don't know what it is," Lady Margret says.
"We've—established I do know everything," Jasper says, shrugging, "Go on."
"How did Richard die?" I ask.
"In battle. I can be more or less specific," Jasper says.
"More," I say. Henry looks away, his face going pale.
"The king was positioned on a hill, past a marsh. I knew it was there. I assume Richard did not. Stanley turned to my side, courtesy of me it's fine Maggie, it was me. So Stanley didn't charge. I knew Richard was clever enough, he was able to pick the king out from the men we had dressed in his colors. Being a solider, he led his own guard to go and capture the king, as it was the only move he had left to win, at that point. The only move I gave him. But the horses hit the marsh, and we had plenty of men held back to protect the king. Their orders were if Richard entered the fighting not to let him out of it alive. We knew he'd fight to the end. And. Being a solider. He did," Jasper says.
"How?" I ask, biting my lip.
"His helmet was struck off. And they stabbed him, twice to the face, front of his face, with daggers, then one man got a dagger, through the top of his skull, he was likely dead then, and other sword went through the middle of his back. He was still moving a bit, fighting as the life left him, so another man drove a halberd through the back of his head, nearly tearing it off. That ended him, finally. I'd say he was likely gone from the first dagger to the top of his head, but the men swore to me he was still struggling, and that was why they did it," Jasper finishes, sipping his wine. Henry is looking away, his face pale, he looks ill as I feel.
"He knew it was a risky charge, didn't know how. But he did it himself, he was a soldier and he knew he was up against me," Jasper says.
I close my eyes to block out the mental image of them stabbing him like that. A dagger down into his skull? Into his face? He was surely dead. But I have no doubt, blinded, his skull cracked, he kept fighting. I can hear his voice, so clearly, in my mind, smiling the smallest bit as he raised a hand to mine, "What are we?"
"Tough," I whispered.
"That's right. We're Yorks, so we're tough," he smiled.
Why didn't he say we win? I was little, and scared. He didn't say that. He didn't think he'd always win. He thought he'd keep fighting. He thought he'd die fighting. He knew it. How did he know that?
"Thank you," I say.
Jasper nods, "Don't thank me."