Dowager (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Part 2 - the funeral

"No," I press the heels of my hands to my forehead.
It can't be true.
"His body is being displayed, in a few days they said," Philippa says, her voice ragged.
We're locked up in a set of rooms, at Leeds castle. Me and her, the staff are all different. My french tutors gone.
It's been four months. Of hope. And praying.  In vain? I feel like the floor is dropping out from under me. Like I can't really breath.
"He's not—he can't be dead, they can't kill him. He's an anointed king," I say.
"The cook got it from someone who works at the palace. They're saying he died of melancholy, that he starved to death," Philippa says, looking down at her hands.
"He wouldn't do that. He'd get out he—," that's not him. I close my eyes, tears leaking out of them.   I can still feel his hand upon my shoulder. He'd get out. He'd find a way out and he'd escape. He was so strong. He still would lift me up on my pony. Or carry me upon his back half the length of the main hall.
"It's treason and —I don't think Harry would sink to that, it's damnation to kill a king," Philippa says, gently, "Look we've both been ill locked up in here all winter."
"No. He hunted, and he was on campaign he wasn't sick. I know what sick looks like,," I say, my voice choking, "He wasn't sick."
"I agree with you but—look maybe it is a lie. We know of the conspirators at least Roger still lives. That's something, maybe he got him out and left a corpse Roger would," she says.
I nod, taking a steadying breath.
"They'll come and give us an official announcement. Then if roger comes," she shrugs a bit.
We've been speaking in Latin but there were footsteps in the hall anyway.
"If Roger  hasn't been caught we could have other loyalists," I switch to welsh. I'm not great nor was Richard but he liked whispering idiotic jokes to me while we were at dinner and no one knowing why we were laughing. As I think it in my head it was intended to be a game but it was also survival. Just like his precious hunting. Did he know he was putting weapons in my hands so i could use them on men if I saw fit? I think he did. Maybe he always knew that he was going to leave me.
"Shh," Philippa comes over and warps her arms around me, "We can't do anything more for him now."
"We can do everything to not let them win. Or not let them win easily.We take their reputation, their misdeeds, and anything else we can with us. We make them miserable for ever having tried to destroy us, because if we go down we go down fighting, because if Richard lost he fought to the end. So do we," I say, gripping her arms.
"We know he did," she says, blinking tears from her eyes, "No they never get to win."
"I pray for their deaths. But I think we should consider curses as well," I say, seriously.
Philippa almost laughs, "We do have the time."
We wind up praying anyway. But I think curses might be better. Praying for absolution, and peace, and mercy, hasn't gotten me very far. I might try madness instead. All I know is there's an anger in my chest and it's fierce. It took hold the day they dragged me away. The day guards came for us the dogs wouldn't let them in. And for a moment I felt safe. Then they killed the dogs and came and took me anyway.
Do you think Richard already had her?
Of course he bedded her she must be fourteen?
I thought he only liked boys.
Close enough with this french dog.
The things they said they thought I couldn't understand. They spoke in english. I felt the sting of the words anyway.  Everyone is fascinated with my virginity. I used to be too. I used to fear a wedding bed. Of course I did. All they tell you is that it hurts.
"In three years I'll be old enough to be properly wed," I told him, last Lent . I was turning nine come fall and he was leaving soon. I was too scared to keep waiting for him to bring it up. So I did.
"Oh—we've—we've no need of a child," Richard said, blushing a bit. He'd come to walk with me to the kennels to see some new dogs he'd got in. "And most—most women don't—don't—well sixteen or seventeen is more like the age of a mother. It's a sin anyway if we've no want of a a child."
"Oh," I said, quietly.
"I don't care about heirs. You're young enough. We'll—well at your birthday, or when I—when I return we'll talk about it again if you like but—you're young. And I don't want another—I don't want an heir, that's all a child would be," he said.
"My mother writes that I'm to give you heirs," i said.
"I know—I mean she writes me too—I mean she really doesn't need to—to do that. Ah—look I like things as they are you're learning england and the land. Perhaps next campagin you could come? Get a a taste of that? Or be regeant here if you'd prefer," he said, he was blushing terribly.
"Yes. I like things the way they are too," I said.
"Good," he swung his arm, casually about my shoulders like he would. And I will never feel that again. I know it. We should have at least gotten to know that it was our last goodbye. When he kissed my cheeks, and wiped my tears away with his thumbs.
"I'll be home soon, sweet girl," he said, kissing my forehead then.
And we should have gotten to know it was the last time. I wanted at least one more hello,. I would have hugged him fiercer. I don't want to turn back the clock to stop him from going, or to run away, or even to never have married him. I want to hug him one more time. A little longer. Why didn't I hold on another minute?
I'm weeping on my knees when the men come. I can't seem to stop crying and my nose is stopped and my eyes are red.
It's men from Henry of Lancaster. Supposed king. Pretender. He's the one that locked us up here and he crowned his horrible sons all his princes. His virility is all he brings to the throne it seems.
"King Richard is dead. Of melancholy," the messenger says, looking at us two weeping women. I don't know him. Of course not they never said our old guard. It's all Lancaster men with their thick northern accents and ruddy wind burned cheeks.
"No he's not," I whisper.
"He has died in custody, the funeral will be held in London, you are to remain here," the messenger says.
"Let us go then," Philippa says, "What threat are we to you?"
"I wish to go to my husband's funeral," I say, looking up at the man. That rage is still heavy in my chest.
"You will remain here for your own safety," the man says.
"Look Swynford, just let me take the girl somewhere else we'll stay with Henry Beaufort he's a Bishop, we'll stay in church custody with him, but we need to get a walk outside and she needs her things," Philippa says.
They took us with nothing. My clothes. My jewels. All my presents from Richard, my parents, everything of value and worse things of no value to them, they kept. The riding coat Richard had made for me, boots, things that were mine of no use to anyone, even his letters from when he was away. They were mine to keep mine to have. I have nothing else.
"You will release me I am still a Queen of England," I say.
"Not anymore," the man says.
"I am Dowager Queen if you claim he was dead," I say, hate bubbling in my voice.  I remeber Richard's hand on my shoulder. I was playing with some of his nieces and I kept losing at sword play.
"I'm sure they told you you that ladies have to be quiet, and gentle, and meek—but you're the bloody queen," he said, smilng.
I grinned too.
He poked my cheek, "There's that smile. All right? Ready to go kick their asses?"
I can still hear his voice in my head. But I'm standing here so incredibly small. No I'm not ready I needed you.
"It wasn't a consummated marriage you're a princess of France being held here for your safety," he sighs.
"How do you know?" I ask, looking at him with bloodshot eyes.
"What?"
"How do you know The marriage was unconsummated? Do you plan to check?" I ask, poison in my voice, "I am a queen of England and a princess of France, you escort me to my husband's funeral and grant me a ship home, loaded with my trousseau and possessions as well as my staff."
He scoffs, and then simply leaves.
"Don't encourage them, really," Philippa says.
"Why? They want to bed me anyway, I'll bloody talk about it when I can see them thinking about it," I say, I can still how cold my own voice is.
Philippa sighs, hand to her face.
"Praying doesn't do any good," I say.
"It does if an angel appears. We could use an angel."
Roger appears at midnight predictable as a cat. I've cried so much I'm sick of it. We didn't go to bed there wasn't a point. There isn't a point in anything. I just feel empty now. Hollow. Anything I do is going through the motions none of it matters. I'm slumped in a chair, waiting. Hoping. Of course he comes. Stepping in a window nearly silently. Dressed like a beggar.
I'm up before I can think and I fly directly into his arms. Weapons press through his cloak, digging into my ribs. He wraps one strong arm around me the other around Philippa who similarly flew to him. Locked in his familiar embrace I feel some small spark of hope.
Traditionally quiet, he simply steps farther into the room, still gripping us both tightly.
"Well?" Philippa asks, still leaning against him.
I'm weeping afresh.
"I know nothing. I haven't seen—what they claim is his body. But," Roger shakes his head a bit, "He was at Pontefract. I nearly got in three times, on the third they tried to kill me I escaped. But he may have made it out, if so they'd declare him dead."
"And he'd know where to find you?" Philippa confirms. I don't know how much of a question it really is. The cousins have always been close as I understand, with nearly a secret language between them. Roger's older than Richard and Philippa but he's always looked out for them their parents died when they were fairly young. And Roger's illegitmate so he's just about.
"Yeah," Roger nods a little.
"What are we going to do?" I ask, "Can you get us out of here?"
"I've got nowhere for you to go," Roger says, heavily.
"Please? If we could wait where Richard might go—," I begin, "you're living somewhere."
"I'm on the run, I don't endanger anyone with my presence—I shouldn't you. I'm Richard's brother his last living male blood relative," Roger says, gently, "My days are—entirely. Numbered."
"What support do we have?" Philippa asks, practically. She moves to get him a cup of wine.
"Ah—there's everyone in this room for one," he says, dryly.
"But everyone loved Richard," I say.
"And they've said he's dead—whcih I don't think—I'd know," Roger says, quietly.
"But there's no one to put on the throne with Richard gone let's say—Harry of Lancaster is the next in line," Philippa says, "you're Prince Edward's son—,"
"I'd kill him in trial by combat. But it wouldn't work. That's only revenge which I've tried. The only reason I'm not in there cutting out his heart is I'm still hoping Richard could be alive in hiding. If any man could get out of Pontefract it was him, I taught him myself," Roger says, accepting the wine.
"But we're still here," I say.
"Aye, and any will Richard may have made that you were to be regeant relies on you being something like fifteen, I know he spoke of it for future campaigns but they wouldn't put a ten year old boy on the throne either," Philippa says.
"I know, but we need to get out of here. I can't stay here their prisoner, and I'm Richard's —widow now I guess, I'm a problem to them," I say.
"About as much as me. Except they can't catch me," Roger says.
"Then seriously take us with you," Philippa says.
"My support right now is friendly taverns, and then odds and ends, the odd family that was friendly with my father. The south is mostly symapthetic, Exeter of course for John, and then Devon's divided, they supported the old Lancaster, Prince John, but the likes of Philip and Edward are usually on our side. That's usually," Roger says.
"The Courtenay family and the Staffords are loyal to us—so's York if put to it, Uncle Edmund just didn't want to take arms he wouldn't begrudge us—me—help. They all saved us during the Lords' Appellate," Philippa says.
"I don't gamble your lives and safety—over their loyalty to their own heads. Richard's staff is executed, Blount a man of sixty drawn and quartered, it's a blood bath and I wouldn't even blame any of them for not wanting to be next," Roger says.
"Just take us. We'll hide in a tavern. Tell them I'm your niece and she's your sister—you two look alike—that you're taking us to France we'll go. Once we're in Bordeaux we're safe, Richard would know to meet us there if he's out," I say, hopefully.
"He's likely not," Philippa says.
"We don't know that. I—I will find him. I'll find him," Roger says, flatly.
"That's your plan? Scour England in the hope he got out somehow and is waiting for you?" Phillippa asks.
Roger nods, calmly.
"Let us come then. We'll search forever. Richard wouldn't give up on us. We won't give up on him.," I say.
"It is not. Safe. I could be killed tomorrow then what? You two alone on the road? No," Roger says, quietly.
"We are not safe here!" I cry, tears streaming down face again.
"She's right. We're loose ends you said yourself they killed Blount—Blount of all people! Nobody's heard from Geoffrey Chaucer in months and we know Philip Courtenay escaped only because they didn't know he was with you," Philippa says.
"He and I hid in the bodies," Roger nods a little, "I haven't heard from him they may. have caught him by now. But yes, they've killed—anyone. But even Harry won't stoop to women he thinks himself too religious for that."
"He doesn't have to kill us," I say.
Philippa sighs.
"you're a princess of France, and dowager queen now," Roger says, gently, "he won't be kind but he's as much as admitted to murdering Richard. He hired men with axes. People know. You? No he has to keep his image up."
"Right. He won't be kind," I say, bitterly, "You say I'd die or be kidnapped on the road? I'll take that chance. Because I will be here. Do you have any idea what it's like to hear men talk about if you're a virgin? Because they do. Every day. Ever since I got married it's been whispers. Wondering what it'd be like to have a wife that young. If Richard was enjoying it. I wanted to play with my dolls. They talked about if he was taking me to bed. Now Richard's gone. How long do you think it's going to be before one of them decides he wants to know what it's like? Because I was married there's no difference now I'm spoiled goods and now they think I'm free for the taking."
"I'm so sorry," Roger says softly.
"That doesn't keep me safe. I'm trapped here. And I'm scared. Everyone who has ever promised to love me has either died or left. And I still want to play with dolls. And i want to go home," I say, my voice shaking.
Roger kneels in front of me, gently wrapping me in a hug. I sink into his shoulder.
"I'm really scared."
"She's right to be. There's nothing stopping them now. We're both widows. No one is here. And our Harry doesn't have a stellar record for looking after women does he/ he won'T send them but he also won't care," Philippa says, "You know that's what happens."
"Sweet girl," Roger says, gently putting his thumbs to my cheeks to wipe away the tears, just like his brother would. "I can't promise you I'm going to protect you, or that I'm even going to be here. Because i will die at this. And i will let you down again. And I'm not going to say that you're wrong. You're right. And they may come for you. But you're to make any and every one of them regret ever messing with my girl."
He moves my hand to press one of his daggers into it. They took the little one I had that Richard had given me. This is similar, like the ones Roger let me practice wtih.
"We go down fighting," I say, softly.
"You know where to hit them. To make them bleed," he says.
I nod.
"Show me," he says.
I tap the side if his neck, then his lower belly, base of his ribs, top of his thigh.
"Groin. You stab them. And this blade is curved. They will bleed out. And you keep hitting. You may not win. But you will take as much of them as you can with you, when you go. That is what we do," he says.
"You're in that much danger?" Philippa asks.
"I've nearly been spotted twice. It's a matter of time. If I thought I could get you on a boat to france I would," Roger says, standing to give her a knife, "I'm sorry I can't take you home, little one."
"Home is Windsor. With everyone alive. With Richard. Home doesn't exist anymore. That doesn't mean I don't want to go," I say, softly.
Roger smiles grimly, tears in his dark eyes.
"Damn it Roger just meet us in France," PHilppa says.
"Not while he's here," Roger says, flatly.
"You realize that's likely dead?"
"Yes. I told him I wouldn't leave him. He needs me," Roger says, flatly, but the tears and slowly leaking down his cheeks.
"Please," Philippa says, "We're alive."
"I have a few more of those. I assume they took yours? Yeah," he gets out a few more daggers.
"Do you know what happened to the dogs?" I ask, quietly. I know they killed mine. But Richard had some of the dogs with him. "What about Math?" Richard's big black wolfhound, he usually had one or two following him but Math was his usual shadow, the gentle beast would lay across his and my laps as we played cards.
"I don't know. I'm sorry," Roger says, gently.
"They took all our belongings," PHilippa says, "I realize they're murderers but."
"Theives as well," Roger says, nodding, "I'd best go."
"When will you be back?" I ask.
"If I'm not dead I'll find a way," he says.
And then I realize he thinks he'll be dead.
"You'd better come back to me," I say, tears in my eyes, "Climb through that damn window. And carry me back home. Okay?"
He nods, tears running donw his face. He kisses my forehead. Then he embraces Philippa.
"Stupid," she says.
"Yeah," he kisses her cheeks.
The cousins part with whispered words in Latin I know are scared to only them. Then Roger is gone, silently as he came.
"Come to bed, we'll lie together," Philip's says, gently.
"You think that will stop them?" I ask.
"No. But we can stab them together," she says, arm around my shoulders.
"What's Lancaster going to do with us next?" I ask, "legally anyway?"
"God only knows."