The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XXXIV: April 1461

"Noo-o-oh-oh-o..." My bloodcurdling scream rings on forever. Anne drops to the ground beside me, placing her arms about me fiercely as I convulse. He is gone. 'Tis true. He is dead.

"Anthony? My oldest brother?" She looks up at the poor messenger. I let out another moan. Someone is ripping out my entrails. Hot coals have been poured down my throat. My mouth tastes of acid. Hot tears fall fast down inflamed cheeks as I wretch. Anthony. My Anthony. He is dead. He has died. He died fighting for Lancaster. Edward took him. Edward has taken him from me. My ugly moans continue, as pain bites through all my veins, wracking my body. I heave into my skirts, as Anne clutches my sweating palm.

"I am sorry for you, Elizabeth. I am so sorry." Her own face is damp too.

"He- he- was your brother."

"You loved him more." She says, squeezing my hand further, and I realise she must be slightly discomforted at seeing my usually more composed persona react thus.

I look up. "My husband. How did he die?" My throat burns and rasps as I choke and spew in my lap. I knell over, feeling as though I am breaking inside the core of me, for Anthony, my husband of so little months, is dead, and I am a widow again. He promised to return to me. He said he would be safe.

"I know not, Milady. I am sorry for your loss." The lad says uncomfortably, drowned by my sobs. How he shall have fun telling all he meets of the despairing Lady Scales. Anne cares naught for the nauseous contents in my lap, probably having seen such many a time with her young siblings, and puts her arms about me, crying into my shoulder. I clutch her back, for she has lost her brother, her eldest brother, courageous Anthony. How shall I live, widowed again? Oh, oh, oh, how can he have died? Who hath slain him? Why him?

"Nay," I say hoarsely, "Bring me my horse."

"What?" Anne rocks back. Her countenance is completely red.

"I have to go. To his body. They will- they will probably b-b-bury it t-t-there." I gulp, pressing my hand to my mouth, for I shall wretch again. Lord Scales, my husband, is truly dead.

"Elizabeth, you cannot go. You are not thinking straight."

"He is dead!" I scream at Anne, "he is dead. H-h-he is dead." I let out a mangled, ugly moan, clenching my hair as she moves to clutch and hold me as I sink completely to the ground, crying into it. I retch. I gasp. An arrow has struck my heart. Anthony. Oh, how did he die? My own rasping breathing grows louder in my ears. My surroundings spin about me. I cannot breathe anymore as it grows faster. Faster. Blood rushes to my head as I let out another excruciating scream. For I can see Anthony's body. Lying there. In the mire. Coated, in thick layers of mud. Snowflakes upon his eyelashes. Deep gouges across his countenance. Blood, seeping into the snow, staining it around him. His arms and legs wracked from his body, twisted from torture worse than that at the Tower. His lips all cracked. An arrow wound; deep claret blood oozing out of his heart...

My gasping becomes more hysterical. Oh, how can this have happened- how could fortune be so cruel as to send me into my second widowhood, and be forced to marry again? My Anthony, my Anthony. I beat the ground as I scream. Wet hair tangles in my face, as liquid of all manners spurts from my eyes, nose and mouth. Anne's arms clutch greater about me, her body convulsing against mine.

Anthony is gone. Dead on a battlefield. We were married, not even half a year. We spent but one day together of our wedded state. I did indeed fear for the worst, that he might die, but I never expected it to come true. He was my young golden prince, slain in his prime, who rescued me from Ludlow. Yet I could not save him. Who hath slain him, and snatched away my chance of happiness? I shall slay them too. What am I to do, now that he is dead? I am five and twenty, and will have buried two husbands, and all because of this war.