The Boar (Violent Delights Book 16)

Chapter 7 - 1489 "Broken things"

Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke

The war has ended. I'm standing on the lawn of Windsor, watching the sun go down. Kids are playing with dogs. And if I close my eyes. It's as though none of it happened at all. Except, of course, it did. I uncurl my hand, staring at the scar upon it.
"My lord? A Sir Du Parc is here to see you," a page boy says, scurrying up. He's not afraid of me but I don't react well to surprises a couple of squires got knocked over I did apologize but now they stay out of punching distance when I look like I'm lost in my memories. I often am these days.
"Send him out to me. Thank you," I nod, staring off.
I don't move even though I hear the familiar footsteps behind me. It's getting late. Those kids will be tired soon. Henry's oldest, and a couple of little friends, watched by nurses. And me, from the shadows of course.
"I didn't know if you'd see me," Bertran says, stopping several paces behind me.
"I didn't know if you'd come," I say, turning around slowly.
He looks me up and down, amused. I'm not dressed like a prisoner anymore. And I have more grey hairs than I once did. But then so does he.
"You won. You got away. You warned me from the start," he says.
"I did," I nod.
"After all this time why call me here?" He asks, "All the way from Brittany. I'm surprised your spies found me."
"My spies can do most anything," I say, coming back to the table to pour him a cup of wine. "After all this time. Why did you come?"
"I suppose I wanted to see if the rumors were true," he says, looking over at me, "Now that it's all done."
I shrug, "I don't know what rumors you mean. Ones I've written?"
"All those deaths. I never believed that Richard killed his wife and son. Or his nephews," he says, "Not when you were there. Waiting for revenge. With all that time and all those letters."
"And his manservant too. Poor man. We found him in Richard's tent after the battle. Dead," I say.
"So you're finished. You win, checkmate," he says, calmly.
I say nothing.
"You won just as you planned it. Does Henry even know half of what you did?"
"I think he chooses not to know. It's more peaceful that way I think," I say, looking out at the setting sun, "What's your question Bertran? Why are you here? You didn't have to come."
"I just needed to know if you'd done it. If as promised you are now a common man," he asks, "Now that your revenge is complete. And you've finished your quest."
"Only you can be the judge of that. And know that it's true. What I say, we've seen, really doesn't matter. And so, you pass the judgement. Am I just another man? Or am I still the monster?" I ask, holding out the cup of wine, "If you trust in me. Then set me free. And drink it."
He takes it, nearly smiling. And without hesitation he drinks the entire cup down. He sets it down.
I nod a bit, approvingly, "Hemlock. You have, perhaps a half an hour's life left in your body."
"What?" He stands, staring at me, "No—," he studies my face to see if I'm lying.
I stand up, walking to the end of the gravel. The kids moved but they're still playing with the dog.
"No—no, this is one of your games. Why—?" He asks.
"When I returned after Bosworth. And we took the crown. I found out that King Edward had given orders for the Duke of Exeter to be thrown from his ship. Into a stormy sea. And—stupidly—I let them tell me he was dead. For years, I insisted that no, my Harry could swim. He could always swim, better than any man my Harry didn't drown, I knew it, but, they told me it was grief and I was wrong, so I searched among the bodies that had washed up along the coast," I say.
"What? What are you talking about?" Bertran asks.
"It was you," I say, turning. There are tears in my eyes. "You killed him."
"I don't know what you mean," but now he does.
"He didn't drown that night. Harry, my Harry could always find me. And he did. He found me," I say, my voice shaking, "And as he always did he pretended to be a beggar, only way to disguise those damn Lancaster looks—and he turned up at Susincio. Where you ordered he be killed. And buried in a shallow grave not a stone's throw from my fucking cell."
"I was drunk that night—I didn't know—how could I know it was him—,"
"The same way you knew me. Ten years on. You saw us both that day in Paris. And he was, far more recognizable than I. You knew it was him," I can hear the rage still burning in my voice.
"No—I swear to you, Jasper I had no idea. I didn't know. I thought he was just a mad beggar I was drunk you can't—,"
"I don't really care if you didn't know," I shrug, "You killed him. I know. Once I started searching in the right place. I found him. Right away. Shallow grave, beggars clothes. But it was him, white hair, and a break in his shin that I set myself."
"I didn't know. You can't do this—you can't kill me for that. You've killed, far more men than I and I didn't know—," Bertran begins. But his hands are trembling.
"I wouldn't want the kids to get into this just—," I go and pick up his cup, cleaning it carefully with a rag.
"You drank from that."
"Poison was already in your cup, pitcher's fine, that's good wine," I say.
"How can you do this? When you know he was nothing more than a begger then— you can't claim to be better than that. You've taken lives—,"
"I know. I just don't care. He was mine. And you took him from me. Now you pay the price. I'm no avenging angel. Nothing in this world is fair. Especially me. Might want to sit down, could hurt if you fall you'll be fully paralyzed soon," I say, as he twitches.
He stumbles and nearly falls. I catch him, stroking a hand along his face, as I drag him back to his chair. I drop him in it.
"I—I—,"
"Shh, now, shh, you're all right now," I say, "Just let go. It's fine." I stroke a hand through his hair then stand.
Tears are in his eyes.
"Enough now," I say, backing away.
Prince Arthur, Henry's eldest boy, runs up and wraps his arms around my legs, "Uncle, can we go see the rabbits?"
"Of course," I pick the little boy up easily.
Bertran is twisting in the chair, slowly convulsing as he dies.
"Is he okay?" Arthur whispers.
"He wasn't feeling well. Come on, let's go find your sisters eh?" I ask.
Henry is standing at the edge of the drive. Coronet on his head. Fine robes.
"Finished?" He asks.
I nod, "Finished now."

The End

Richard III would be buried at the nearest church, naked, hands tied. Henry VII would put up a simple monument for him. Over time his grave was lost, for over four hundred years we didn't know where the king lay buried. He was discovered again in 2012, and reburied in a proper tomb, in Leichester Cathedral.

Anne Neville remains buried in Westminster, in the hallway where Henry V is buried, presumably where Richard himself intended to be buried.

Mostly due to Tudor propaganda, Richard would be reviled as a scheming villain. Since 1924 the Richard III Society has sought to reform this image to honor the man that he was.

Henry VII and Jasper both lived to old age, dying peacefully in their beds.

Like Richard, Jasper's true legacy and movements would largely be lost to history, and he'd become little more than a footnote on his nephew's story.

The fate of Katherine, Countess of Huntington, and the Duke of Exeter, are unknown to this day.

Anne Neville and Prince Edward's causes of death remain completely unknown, and while a James Tyrrell was tried for the murder of the Princes, there was no true evidence and he confessed under duress put upon him by Henry VII. Two skeletons of children do lie with Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville, and have never been identified.