The Other Elizabeth *OLD VERSION*

L. All Hallows' Day 1462

L

All Hallows' Day 1462

Grafton, Northamptonshire, England

I wake on the morrow to find Anthony turned on his side and resting on his elbow in our bed, facing me with a smile. I open my eyes, rubbing them.

"Good morrow," I say, yawning.

"Good morrow to you, my lovely wife. Do you know today's date? 'Tis two years since we were formally betrothed." This is what I do love about my husband- he remembers names, dates, places, small stories or fragments of information. He studies everything, and he truly listens. I smile back at him, and lean over to kiss the top of his nose, for God has been good to me in my husband. I think back to over a year and a half ago, when I almost so cruelly lost him...

His hand is resting on the left side of his face, where puckered skin is visible if you are in very close proximity, above his eye. The awful, hideous bruising on his body has gone from where he was trampled on by a horse as he lay on the ground on the Bloody Meadow. I subconsciously glance down at his physique, covered by his night robe. It has taken many months for the ribs beneath it to heal, and we could not resume... relations in bed for that duration. Anthony, so strong and omnipotent on the outlook, was weak, tender, and fragile. I nursed him from the day he returned to me, as I did Henry, washing his cuts until they faded, rubbing some of Jacquetta's ointments on his bruises gently. I know he is still frustrated that he cannot get up and run, or ride too much- the ride home from Towton must have done worse damage- or be particularly energized. As long as he is here, with me. Sometimes, I selfishly think I have him all to myself, in moments like this as we smile at one another.

I think back to those letters of condolence I received, for example from the Pastons, having wrongly heard of reports of his death, after Anthony had not yet been recovered from where he lay on the battlefield, and the ones I sent back in the uttermost illegible scrawl to say that Anthony was alive! He was not slain in battle, God had granted me a miracle, and let him survive, and let his father and Rick find him alive amongst the bodies on the battlefield, from where he lay fallen from his horse. Anthony spends more time at church, telling his rosary beads more than he ever did before, because he knows how lucky he was to be found and return to me, when so many women never got to see their husbands' faces again. I joke that he is becoming too pious, but eventually I join him in prayer and we both jest about getting saint's knees together. Anthony thanks Our Lord daily.

I do wonder what would have happened if he had died- who I would have wed, or what would have occurred to me had he, Rick, Richard and Jacquetta had gone into exile with the old King and Queen, fleeing from King Edward, who tried to catch up with them. Anthony, Rick and their father would not have received pardons from King Edward in that instance. We are forgiven from being traitors to him, our true sovereign, despite the animosity which occurred at Calais and the rating there. For Jacquetta and the elder Richard- his son and namesake called Rick to distinguish the surly youth from Bess' son Dickon who now lives with us- knew that the fight was lost, and that they should duly become quiet Yorkists.

Bess, the other Elizabeth Wydeville, who did sadly lose her husband, has returned home to Grafton, with her two boys, Tom and Dickon, and we have become quite close friends and sisters, although the manor here is rather crowded and noisy, for there are so many children. Many of them should have been married by now, such as Anne, but who will marry disgraced Lancastrian daughters, with not much of a dowry?

The rivers of coins do not flow so fast, although Jacquetta has some of her dower from her first marriage, Anthony and I do not have enough money to finish the building works at Scales Hall, and thus we remain at Grafton also. We could hardly go to a separate residence whilst he was healing, and I am not sure if I could have coped by myself, for I have here the loving aide of Anne, Bess, and Mary- practical, serious, and forward for her young years. I have become firm friends with most of my siblings, for I am not too far apart in age with the eldest ones, although I am older than they all are. Despite Bess' somewhat imposing looks, she is very lovely, loyal, and protective. I do feel rather sorry for her, having to raise her boys herself, but it must be nice for her to see her siblings grow up, after such a time away from them. Mary is quieter, but she is exceptionally skilled at singing, playing the lute and dancing, and is almost competition for Bess, a youthful copy of her.