~𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌~
Born the youngest daughter of Charles I, Duke of Bourbon, Constance of Bourbon grows up amidst comfort and splendour on her powerful family's estates in France. A shy child, she prefers her...
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~When Death Comes on Swift Wings~
11th of September 1484, Sutton Bank....
A city of tents sprouted from the few that had been atop the bank, spreading across the flat land. For the first few days, morn and night sawing and the thud of fallen trees could be heard. They cleared the ridge and much of the encampment of their wooden inhabitants, filling the spaces with pointed linen, horses and heavy canon.
As the camp rose, a routine began to form for the army and for Constance too. She would rise with the sun and her ladies would help her dress. She would then go and see her son, kiss him good morning, ensure he'd eaten (she'd realised he had a habit of being sidetracked from food those days) then eat herself. By the time she was finished the camp would be alive with soldiers, their laughter and chatter, their shouts and scrapes of wet-stones against their swords.
She would return to her tent for a while, listen to Margaret read or embroider with Elizabeth and sometimes Edward or Richard would come to fetch her, particularly if anyone has joined them. So far the Earl of Kildare and his force of four hindered had made a most welcome arrival as long with Thomas St Leger - Anne of York's widower and fifty men. She'd embraced him fiercely.
The most notable man to join them was William Stanley, brother of Thomas who they all knew stood firmly on the enemy side. She knew what this was - one brother on each side as always but he brought to her son two thousand men and who was she to deny that? All the same she told Richard to tell every commander to keep an eye on him.
Edward welcomed him no differently than he did any other man, smiling when knelt before him and swore his allegiance to the true king, embracing him when he rose and walking with an arm about Stanley's shoulders into his tent where he offered him wine. Still, she knew he had his reservations, he wasn't stupid.
When her son or lover did not fetch her she would walk about parts of the camp with her ladies, often finding herself drawn to the edge of the bank to stare out at the view. Thrice the sound of arrows flying into the air had joined her.
Rob told her they were testing how far they reached to see if they could fire them from the bank during battle instead of having the men below. The third time there were temporary walls constructed from the felled trees put up from the edge and the men were in the fields firing upwards to see if the enemy arrows could reach them. Only two managed it. That was a relief.
Once she'd had her fill of the view, she'd return to her tent again (or Edward's) and listen to Margaret and Elizabeth's prayers, eat again, then write to her daughters. She'd written every day since they left. When that was seen to she'd visit her brothers, sometimes Peter, sometimes Charles, sometimes they were together.
