The Boar (Violent Delights Book 16)

Chapter 6 - 1485 "Battle of Bosworth"

Richard, King of England

I lie on the cold stone floor of Westminster. I had it closed off. Such a good idea today. See, I've got lots of good ideas. This one for example. I'll have another shortly. It's a warm day. The cold stone is lovely.
And Anne is here. I buried her here beneath the stones. Then someday I'll lie above her. Here near Edward the Confessor's chapel.
"I sent the girls home, to stay with their mother," I say, quietly, hand on the cold stone, "There were rumors. I don't know if you heard them. That I was going to marry Lizzie. I lost my temper at the people who told me and it wasn't their fault. Then Lizzie wept that she'd rather marry me than someone awful. I told her I wouldn't let that happen."
I take a breath, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm going out of London for a few days. Not long. Just—have to deal with these rebels, finally. Get to use the cannons. You know I love that. And you pretend not to worry about that," I lay my hand on the cold stone, so gently, "I'll be back all right? It'll all be fine. I'll tell you about it when I get home."
I roll over to lie face down on the ground. Directly above her. I kiss the stone. I'm well aware this could make me insane. But I am also aware that if I don't do this, then I'll definitely be mad.
Then I crawl to my knees.
"Your Majesty."
"Yes?" I ask, not moving or looking up.
"Word came. The Tudors and their army crossed through Shrewsbury this morning," Lovell says, standing at the doors.
"Very good. Have them ready my horses. We're riding north," I say. My army is mustered. I just came to say goodbye.
I pick up my coronet from where I lay it on the floor. Then I kiss the stones, and rise to my feet. Time for battle.

Henry Tudor (soon King of England)

"I didn't think I'd see this again, for a while there," I say, staring out across the misty fields. It's early morning in the North of England. I came home. I look at the ring on my hand. Just like I promised.
"Nor did I for a minute," My uncle says, standing next to me. We're up with the army to do another march, hoping to cover another fifteen miles today. We need to head off Richard's advance. And I'd love to pick the terrain.
"Eddie and Queen Margret would be glad we're here," I say.
"Yeah. Glad we agree my brother is bonding with our mother, for the first time, over wishing we both weren't like this," he says.
"They are probably," I smile.
"Seriously, he's got an army. And guns. We can find a castle to hole up in. We don't have to pitched battle sieges are hell of easier to work through than a pitched battle where you've got wind and sun and all else," my uncle says.
"No. No compromises. My cousin deserves more that. Queen Margret deserves more than that. King Henry deserves more than that. This is our land. Our England, and definitely our Wales, not theirs. They've slaughtered our entire family out of selfish ambition. Now they get to know what it feels like. Or we die trying. We finish what we started," I say.
He smiles a bit.
"You're not going into battle."
"Oh, yes I am. You're not. You're the king, you call it, your pitched battle," he says, "I'm an old man. I got you here."
"You're not dying," I glare at him.
"Well, probably no, but," he shrugs, "Andre will be with you." Referring to our loyal captain, a present from Anne of France.
"I've never commanded a pitched battle before I've never even been in a pitched battle," I sigh.
"Well I've never won a pitched battle—oh Jesus wrong time to remind you of that," he says as I start hitting his arm.
"What. Do you. Mean. You've. Never. Won???" I ask, still hitting, "Are you laughing?"
"A bit. Look you definitely knew that you've been here you know what we won and lost," he says.
"But we've won some—?"
"Yeah, I wasn't there personally. Don't worry, first time for everything," he says.
I stare at him.
"What? You've not either," he says.
I stare at him.
He laughs.
"You did not have to tell me that right now!"
"I thought you knew! I thought everyone knew! I thought you'd been following—,"
"What the last thirty one years?"
"Yes the last thirty one years. Anyway. Andre will be there."
"Yes Andre will be there," I breath. He's won pitched battles. He'd better have. Fuck I'm not asking him.
We're quiet for a moment.
"We agree we don't trust my step-father right?" I ask.
"Oh Stanley? No," he shakes his head, "I mean, he's not going to try me. But no."
"Good," I nod.
We're quiet again.
"How angry do you think my mother is at me?"
"Oh that's an us situation and—you know what let's worry about Richard for now," he says.
"Are you saying that because you think my mother is more dangerous than Richard?" I ask.
He nods a small bit, "She's going to hit me when she sees me. Been saving it up. I can feel it."
I sigh, staring forward.
"We sent Peter ahead to London. So that should be fun," my uncle offers.
"Yeah, it will. Him and Stanley."
"Yeah, fuck Stanley."
"Did you know him, growing up?" I ask.
"A little, I mean everyone jousts and such," he says.
"And?"
"And he and his brother used to take turns pretending to be injured in order to get some of us disqualified for bad hits. Some of us is me and Harry and other aggressive people," he says, staring off.
"We'll find him, Harry," I say, gently. He could have passed by now, he and my uncle are getting old.
"Probably locked up in the Tower, talking to a wall or something," he says, "Your mother probably knows everyone talks to her."
"Yeah," I nod, more confidently than I believe. I wonder if he believes it. Then I wonder if he has to.