BATTLE OF WAKEFIELD
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December 1460, Wakefield
Edmund stood on the walls of Sandal Castle, gazing at the field and the trees before it. The land seemed so serene, so quiet and untouched by what was happening in the world. The air seemed far too fresh with two armies camped practically right beside each other. Edmund could see the pillars of smoke in the distance, marking the location of the Lancastrian camp. He would never admit it out loud, but he was afraid. His father was still coming up with a plan and he had promised Edmund they would win, but Edmund was aware that the circumstances were against them.
He found himself thinking back to much happier times. Of the way Edward reeked of horse after a day of riding around their father's lands, of Marge's curls bouncing as she ran, of the squint of his mother's eyes when she laughed or smiled, of the way the light filtered into his room on mornings at Ludlow. Things seemed so much simpler back then, though it was barely two years back. A cold realization sent a shiver down his back. There was a daunting possibility that he would never see his mother again, or Edward and the rest of his siblings.
He could only imagine how they would all react. His mother with gut-wrenching grief, though she would take the brunt of it with ease and coldness and let it stew inside of her because she had to appear strong no matter what. Edward with rage and violence, and oh how much Edmund wished that would not be the case. It was unlike Edward to cause harm to anyone or anything when in the right state of mind, but he knew that he would take up his sword and raise an army with the will of his anger alone. It was perhaps the only thing that would save him in the end. It was the only thing humans answered to. Anger and fear and brutality are the only things that could quell the thirst for revenge; a fear for one's own life.
The end was coming, he could feel it in the very marrows of his bone. It was a terrifying thought, but he accepted it just as he would anything else. No one could truly escape the end when it came for them. Edmund certainly wouldn't be the first one.
He wouldn't fool himself by saying he would.
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Grace walked through the gardens of Pembroke Castle. The air was fresh and comfortable, if not a little chilly. On days like this, she loved to feel the wind blowing in her hair. The breeze was not too harsh and the sun caressed her skin just right with its warmth. She only needed a thin shawl to cover herself.
For the first time in weeks, she was able to get some alone time. Henry always clung to her desperately. He had no friends here. No children his age. Grace and Cecily were the only ones willing to play with him when Uncle Jasper wasn't able to due to work. But today, Grace wanted to be alone. She did not know why. The idea of being in silence, just taking in the world, called to her. Cecily had agreed to spend time with Henry alone that day. Despite her acceptance, Grace had the inkling feeling that she wasn't actually that alright with it. But she had nodded along anyway.
Slight guilt ate away at Grace. She knew why Cecily was uncomfortable around them all. It was not because she was an awkward little girl with strangers, though that might've been just another reason for her distancing herself. It was because horrible things had been done to her. Things Grace did not even wish to imagine. Her mother had looked sickly green whenever speaking of the girl's captivity. She had never told Grace what had truly happened and she didn't think Cecily would ever be comfortable enough to open up to her. Not that Grace could blame her.
It had taken weeks for her to grow comfortable around the Duke of York's family, longer still to actually befriend them. And she had been handled with care. Certainly, not the way Cecily had.
A heavy sigh left her as she walked through the garden. A heavy feeling weighed down on her chest. It had not left her since the moment she woke up that morning. The similarity between this and the dread she felt before the Rout at Ludford Bridge did not escape her. Those hours spent staring out of the window, expecting the red banners of Lancaster to appear at any moment. She hated that feeling. It was a warning sign that something horrible was going to happen. She tried to shake that feeling away, but a thought kept on sneaking its way back inside her mind. Last time, it did, it screamed at her.
Memories of the blood-soaked streets, the organs spilt on the floor, and the screams of innocent people pushed themselves into her consciousness. Grace had been so numb for days after that day. Utterly disarmed by the realisation that her own stepmother could order such atrocities. The woman she had looked up to and thought of as a woman of strength. A pillar of virtue that she could trust. That was no longer the case. Grace could no longer pray at Margaret of Anjou's altar without her stomach twisting.
A gentle breeze pressed softly into her. It was such a stark contrast to harsh and cruel thoughts inside her head that she was torn out of them for a moment. That did not last long, however, and her mind almost instantly drifted to a much more horrible realisation.
The Lancastrian and Yorkist forces would soon clash at Wakefield. It was written in the missive that Uncle Jasper received just a few days prior. She wasn't supposed to know of any troop movements, but she had snuck into Jasper's office late at night. When the rider arrived early in the morning, it hadn't left her alone. She knew that whatever was in the letter could be nothing. But it also could be important, and so she had crept from her bed when everyone else was asleep.
Her chest tightened painfully. York had nine thousand men with them. Lancaster had two times that number. The Yorks wouldn't win that fight. Not even if God smiled upon them. Grace knew that she should be happy about that. Her family would win! It would be another step closer to ending the war. But Edmund was with the Yorkist troops. He would be caught in the crossfire.
Grace might've been young, but she knew what happened to prisoners of war. It was either the cell or the axe. Neither of them were good choices. Certainly not for the son of the Duke of York. If he didn't die during the battle, only torment could await him afterwards.
It wasn't fair. How come the first true friends she had ever made in her life stood on the opposite side of the war? It had to be some cruel joke from God. Was she truly so terrible – so despicable – that she couldn't have anything good in her life? A broken family, a dirtied name, traitors for friends.
Edmund and his father would most likely perish in the next few days. She doubted she would ever see them again. What she wouldn't do to see the Duke of York's harsh and cold eyes again. Even for a moment, so she could remember the man that had taken her in so kindly even when she was the enemy's daughter. He had been withdrawn and distant from her, but he had still been kind.
Neither he nor his son would receive proper burials. No traitors ever did. Their bodies would be put on display for everyone to see. Left to rot in the sun until they were unrecognizable.
The worst part was, she had no idea what would happen to the rest of the Duke's children. She saw no reality in which Edward wouldn't seek revenge. The war would not end with the Duke's death. Perhaps not even with Edward's. The bodies would continue to pile up until one family was entirely wiped out. Grace did not want it to be the Yorks. And she certainly did not wish to be the one to die instead. She was innocent in all of this. As was her half-brother. But someone had to die. Or else the cycle would never truly end.
"Lady Grace!" Grace was ripped out of her thoughts by the voice. Grace quickly wiped away the tears that had started falling somewhere along the line of her thoughts. Her eyes would be red no matter what she did, but at least she could pretend to be alright.
"Yes?" she called back, turning slowly to look at the servant girl that called to her. The girl was rushing towards her through the garden, her skirt catching on various bushes. Grace saved her the trouble and made her way towards her, meeting her in the middle.
"Lord Jasper requests your presence in his study," she answered, curtsying carefully.
Grace swallowed thickly but nodded. She made her way through the garden, her red gown trailing behind her. She passed through the rows of bushes – all dead and barren from the winter's chill – and made her way inside the castle. Her uncle's office was on the other side of the castle, but she made her way to it quickly enough. Servants bowed to her as she passed.
When she reached her uncle's study, she knocked on the door. A faint faint 'come in' sounded from the other side. She entered, pausing shortly when she noticed her uncle wasn't alone.
Cecily stood at the desk, her hands carefully folded over her abdomen and her head bowed, avoiding Jasper's gaze. Grace's eyes flickered around the room, looking for Henry. But he was not there. The only other person that was present in the room was her mother, standing as tall and proud as ever.
"Good, you are here," Jasper called to her cheerfully. He waved at her to come further into the room. Grace did as she was told, glancing at Cecily shortly. She had hoped the girl would at least look at her, but she was offered no such honour. Jasper leaned forward on his chair, gesturing to Cecily with his hand. "Cecily is to become your lady-in-waiting."
Grace blinked at him, uncertain. "Only noblewomen of high standing have ladies-in-waiting." She might've been the King's daughter, but she was not the princess. The only honour she could receive was becoming someone else's lady-in-waiting, and even that could be seen as an insult. Jasper must've been jesting, because it wasn't possible. Cecily, as the true-born daughter of an Earl, held a better position in society than Grace did.
"And that is exactly what you are, darling," her mother said proudly, lifting her chin with a broad smile. "You will be leading high society when this is all over." Grace's brows furrowed. Now she was really confused. Grace had never led anything in her life. High society had looked down at her, spit in her face and kicked her into the dirt all her life.
"Queen Margaret has decided that you are to be instilled as Duchess of Sussex," Jasper clarified, pushing a letter across his table towards her. Grace snatched it into her hands almost instantly. Her eyes widened as she read the words on the parchment. The signature of her stepmother at the bottom of the letter was like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of her.
She had never been eligible for anything in her life. Had never received a helping hand from anyone but her mother. She had expected her life to be spent alone, shunned by everyone, or married off to some lowly lord that decided she was good enough for him. And now, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, she had been elevated to the status of a duchess. With a flick of her wrist, Queen Margaret had given her lands and titles. Prospects beyond Grace's wildest dreams.
"But I'm a bastard," Grace breathed out, stunned. Jasper merely shrugged his shoulders. As if this was not the turning point in Grace's life. As if she had not been given the gift she could have only dreamt of mere days ago. If she had been born a man, she wouldn't have thought twice about it. The male bastards of kings often received their own lands. But Grace was not a man, and this was practically unprecedented.
"The Queen claims that if you have your own dukedom, you are more eligible for a marriage that may benefit Lancaster. Though you may not be as valuable as a princess, you could still bring a much-needed ally from another country to our side," Jasper said, leaning back in his chair.
Grace took a deep breath to calm herself. She should've guessed that the title wouldn't come without a price. She felt a pang of disappointment in the pit of her stomach. A love match had never been something that was in the cards for her, but still, Grace had dreamt, just as any girl her age had, that she would be swept off her feet by a charming man. "She also claims that she would not be able to have another child anytime soon, so while your brother's engagement to the Scottish princess gives us an army up north, you could potentially enforce the one we already have in the south."
Grace stared at him for a moment, contemplating what she had just heard in her mind. She was expected to marry soon, then. Probably to France, to bolster the alliance that Queen Margaret had brought with her when she married the King. The idea that she would have to leave the only home that she had ever known, to live with people that had been the enemy of her country for centuries, was nauseating. The smile she gave Jasper was uncertain and strained.
"Come, we have so much to talk about," her mother cried out happily, wrapping an arm around Grace's shoulders and leading her from the room.
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Edmund swung his sword in a diagonal arch, cutting a man straight across his chest. Hot blood splattered over his face. It left him blinded for a few moments. Screams sounded all around him. Both pained shouts and battle cries. Edmund quickly wiped his eyes, no doubt leaving the blood on his face smeared.
They were greatly outnumbered. The chance of victory was slimmer with each passing moment. His father had rashly decided to lead them into a field battle instead of preparing for a siege. It had been a terrible idea, but no one had argued. Certainly not Edmund, who had no experience in such things. He had trusted his father to lead them to another day of life. Instead, he was led to death.
You won't be the first to escape the end when it comes to you. That was apparent now more than ever.
Edmund pivoted on his heel when he heard someone crying out behind him. He barely managed to block the attack thrown at him, stumbling back slightly. Luckily for him, a York soldier made his way behind the man and ran him through, giving Edmund a chance to regain his footing without being met with the sharp edge of a sword.
Slash, block, dodge. It was like a mantra in his head. His horse had been killed long ago and he was left grounded and unsure. He missed the spot perched atop his steed, where he could ram through a dozen men without trouble. Now, each soldier he faced was a gamble. It was either him or the enemy, and the chances of who won were evenly matched.
He stabbed a man in the stomach, spinning towards another one and slashing at his throat. A third came charging towards him, aggressively swinging his sword in his direction. Edmund blocked it. The steel sang as it collided, blending into the numerous other clashes. An arrow came whizzing above them. Second later, it was impaled in the man's back. Edmund gasped at the suddenness. That arrow could've hit him. He could've been the one to die then.
You won't be the first to escape the end when it comes to you.
Edmund looked around, swallowing thickly at the sight of the Lancastrian men equipped with spears taking another step forward, shrinking the already small circle that surrounded the York forces. They were like fish in a net. No escape. No hope for survival.
"Edmund!" he turned just in time to see his father being impaled by a sword. He cried out, the shock of the sight sending him barreling forward. He had to reach his father. He had to. Arms encircled his waist from behind, stopping him from reaching the dying Duke. He thrashed, kicking and screaming. His father was so close. He let out a string of 'let me go', followed by 'I'll kill you, you bastard' at the man still standing above his father. "Edmund, look at him!" Salisbury's voice seethed at him as the man tightened his arms around his waist. Edmund was looking at him. He was merely looking while his father bled out on the floor. Merely looking as his father's chest rose and fell in quick and tiny breaths. He let out a grunt, once more trying to tug out of Salisbury's hold. "Look at him! He's dead. You can't help him."
He was right, the Duke lay dead on the floor, his blood surrounding him and his pale blue eyes open, but no longer seeing. It had been only a few seconds since Edmund last looked at his chest. At the chest that had been rising with life. Now, it was utterly still. The sight was so agonizing that Edmund let out another scream. It was a gut-wrenching cry for help. He wanted everything to just stop. He needed it to be over. He could all but give up now.
Salisbury finally let go of him, turning him around forcefully. "Run. Flee you foolish boy!" He yelled, spit flying from his mouth.
And Edmund did, his chest and legs screaming in protest.
You won't be the first to escape the end when it comes to you.
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