The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XXV: September-October 1459

"I do not mean to alarm you," she says, as I shift in the moist bed, for this room is sweltering, and I shall tell her to put that fire out. It brings me memories of my confinement, and I smile sadly. So long ago... "You recall what I told you yesterday, of the battle?" I nod- indeed, there was another ruckus between the Lancastrians and the Yorkists on the twenty-third of last month. By a stroke of luck, although the Yorkists were supposedly reported to have been kissing the ground as their deathbed when they did see how greatly they were outnumbered, we were triumphant. We. Despite having been home amongst the Lancastrian nest for a year now, my opinions in regard to King Henry and Marguerite of Anjou, have not changed. The woman had the cunning to send the army in the name of the Prince, with the Duke of Gloucester's badge, the evil of her, to make it seem as though the Yorkists had declared war on a small boy. I have decided to proudly declare myself a Yorkist- well, in secret at least. I would like to see the Duke and Duchess as King and Queen; My Lord has the true claim to the throne, and they would be just and competent. York surely intends for the throne now?

If Henry were alive, would his body lie on the battlefield at Blore Heath, bloodied such as Lord Audley's, the Lancastrian lead commander? Would he have been captured such as My Lord of Salisbury's sons Thomas and John Neville? If Henry were- No, Elizabeth. Stop it. Stop saying if Henry were here. 'Tis a year now. Move on.

But being here with the Duchess Cecily reminds me of the Bourchiers. How fares Humphrey and Joan, and the other three brothers? Elizabel's letters have been so infrequent of late when I was last back at home in Middleton, and she laments on William and his mistresses. Did the other three Bourchier brothers fight? Which of my own kinsmen fought- were they some of the Lancastrians rained down by arrows?

"Well," says Bessie hesitantly, "The King did not reply when York and his allies swore fealty to him at Worcester Cathedral. Madam the Duchess says they are but a day away from Ludlow, with the King's- nay the Prince's army hot on their heels." I blink. I shift in the bed, swallowing.

I frown. "They come here? But why here?"

Bessie shakes her head, biting her lip, and she reaches out for my hand. "I fear for us. You are hardly in a position to travel, and our way home would be blocked by the armies. What do you say we do?"

"The Duchess will know," I mumble, closing my eyes, and I feign drifting back to sleep, realising with sheer horror, the predicament I am in. 

The Yorkist army arrives and sets up camp south of Ludlow town, on the banks of the River Teme by Ludford Bridge. I cannot understand why there is to be another battle, nor why the fighting has been brought to Ludlow, but I am still too fatigued to comprehend this. What is the worst, which, God forbid could happen, unless there was a battle, and the Yorkists lost? Then what... I rage and battle with my fever through the days, the Duchess at times growing irritated by my presence.

"You are a thorn in my side" she cried one day, at her wit's end from the events occurring, then she bit her lip and apologised. I did not blame her, for she has an army encamped on her threshold, a whole few thousand or more; a sea of grey metal, banners and tents and roars. The fighting seems so very far away, yet now it feels very real. I lie sweating, waiting to hear of the Lancastrian coming, knowing how precarious it is for me to be present here. I may even see the battle, if there is to be another. How could I flee? Do I want to be here when that occurs? What shall I do, trapped in the battle for power? Will my Father be in the Lancastrian ranks? What of my Mother, still one of the Queen's ladies; did she receive the Duchess' stern letter, telling of my plight? Why has she not come to be with me? What shall I do, for I am all alone... My recovery is slow and my position complicated.