#a GOOD and positive side of our yorkist king.

[dickon777]

The true Richard was less than average height, tawny shoulder length hair and a dimple on his chin, lively eyes and he found it hard to keep still as he was known to fidget. He was quick-witted and had a quick lively sense of humour. He love to learn about new places as well as to learn and understand about peoples cultures. He was very knowledgeable and could speak different languages; other leaders that met him during the course of his lifetime had left good accounts about their meetings with him and was known as a good diplomat. He would walk into room full of strangers and quickly make very good friends. He was an approachable king; he went out of his way to make someone feel comfortable, even the most humble servant was allowed to refer to him as Dickon.

- Richard the man behind the myth.

[mary-tudor]

~HENRY TUDOR: A SOCIOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION.~

Today, I'll be discussing a character who left his mark in History, fathering a dynasty whose most proeminent members were his (second) son Henry VIII and his granddaughter Elizabeth I. Often overshadowed by his descendants, Henry's own deeds as a king and as an individual of his own days have been neglected until recently, when efforts from British historians have been working hard to change that. 

The reason why I decided to bring him here was not only due to personal affections, though they certainly helped it, but because there are aspects overlapped in social structures that shaped him. In other words: what's Henry Tudor as a sociological individual? Can we point him out as a constant foreigner or someone whose socialization process were strongly marked by the addition of two different societies? 

Henry Tudor was born in Pembroke, located in Wales, in January 28th 1457. His mother was Margaret Beaufort, a proeminent lady whose grandfather John Beaufort was the son of John of Gaunt, son in turn of King Edward III of England. The duke of Lancaster fathered four ilegitimated children (who were legitimated in posterity) by his (third marriage to his then) lover Katheryn Swynford, amongst whom John Beaufort was the oldest. Therefore, Henry was  3x grandson. to the duke and, despite what some might argue when Henry IV became king, in great deal to inherite the throne. Well, it's not my intention to deepen the discussion as to Henry's legitimacy or the Beauforts. 

Though his father's ancestry, Henry's blood led him to the royal house of Valois. His paternal grandmother, Katherine de Valois, was the sister of Isabella, who had been the second wife of the ill-fated king Richard II. She was also descended of Louis IX and his spanish wife, Blanche de Castille. Henry was also a royal man from the Welsh lands, as Owain Tudor, his grandfather, was related to several princes of Wales. By all these I said, the first thing one might think (considering 15th century and it’s nobility) Henry would receive a proper education due to his status. However, this would not happen in the strict sense of the word. Let us not forget that England was collapsing by the time of Henry Tudor's birth and his childhood. Why am I using the word 'collapse' to qualify the civil war we know named as wars of the roses?

Émile Durkheim, a french sociologist, would write several centuries later, about how a society is formed: he compared it to the working of a human body. If the head, the brain of our body does not work well, what happens? The body will not work well, certainly. Neither would the head work well if other parts hurt somehow. Although if you did break a leg, you could still make use of your brain, but as a whole how limited wouldn't you be? He'd also say that when the human body, or as he called, the society was sick, it was because of the social structures which imposed the human being to the point where there would be no individuality, no matter of choice. 

Such created social facts that were completely external (althoug well internalized through means of a process we call socialization) but coercitive. If they are not working, what does this mean? That soon another social facts will be replacing the former one. But between one and another, we have a "very sickly" society. Taking this understanding back to England's 15th century, it is not difficult to see what Durkheim was talking about. 

The king was the head of the English body. If we have here two kings fighting over one crown, fighting over the rule of an entire body... Well, then? We have the collapse, a civil war that lasted for the next 30 years. Here, it's less about discussing who started what but why they did what they did, and the explanation for it. Power is power. It's crystal clear, and a statement that, however simple might it sound, points to the obvious. Factions that fought for power intended to dominate others, using the concept very well developed by sociologists as Pierre Bourdieu and Norbert Elias. This domination is a large field, a concept that embrace all sorts of it. Looking back to England's latter half of the century, domination was peril. The head was about to explode. The society was ill... and dominated by it.

What were the values? What was the racionalization proccess of social action led by individuals that were not only individuals but a group? How would all of this affect Henry Tudor? It was not about merely blaming the capitalism, because such coercitive system wasn't present yet. But Henry was, directly or not, linked to the royal house of Plantagenets, whose eagerness for dominating one another and by extension the rest of the country would include him in the game. 

"Game." For Durkheim, this would imply an agitation, like a wave of sea, from which no one could escape from. Let's not forget that Institutions created ideas, renewed them, shaped them to the practice whether to dominate the weaker or to defeat the stronger. Whatever the purpose, we here have the Church, not the religiosity, but the precursor of ideas would subdue individuals to share (or manipulate to their own goals anyways) values in order to keep determined mentality to it. But also, monarchy was too an institution which held control over the lives and deaths of thousands of people. A monarch, as we know, is never alone regardless of how "absolut" they could be in different times and contexts. They were not above the law, either. At least where the socialization process is concerned. For the monarch embodied the content which was the law back then. He was literally the law. 

Furthermore, Henry's education would foresee this fighting, which I'm not merely referring to custody going from his mother to another, before finally staying under his uncle's responsibilities, as well as the civil war itself. (Anyone remembers Warwick executing Herbert before the boy?) 

See, we all know and comprehend today what trauma are capable of doing to someone. Such experience is the main responsible for shaping ideas, values and even costumes. Now, a society which is very much sick by it's own values and moral costumes (a point here must be made: the public consciousness always preached for a warrior, strong king, but has no one thought how this "common sense", validated by a general expectation towards the head of society, was what led it to... well, for the lack of better word, suicide itself? 

For it's widely accepted that weak kings do not last long. But that is when we deal with a good deal of expectations that, when turned to frustrations, bring awful results. If England's society was ill in it's very extreme sense of the word, was because the values they created turned against themselves and that would leave it's mark in a boy as Henry. And until the age of 14, he was still absorbing these concepts, these morals, values, costumes from institutions (let's not forget that a monarch shares such with the nobility that surrounds him, as was the case of House Lancaster,f.e) before he was casted out to Bretagne and, in posteriority, to France. Now, I believe you all know what was done whether in England or with our king during these 14 years spent outside his own country before he became king upon the victory settled on the battle of Bosworth field.

I am not interested in discussing historical facts. At least not now, as we are finally dealing with Henry Tudor as a social actor

----/-HENRY TUDOR: A FOREIGNER? AN EXILED? OR AN OUTCAST?--

These questions mobilized me as I came to read a text written by 19th century sociologist named Georg Simmel. He wrote an essay (pardon by any mistakes in translations done from here on) entitled "The Foreigner", in which he brings a sociological question at why  foreigners are seen as strangers who are never entirely immersed in the society they attempt to be part in. 

Here's an excerpt translated by me in which he explains it:

"Fixed within a determined social space, where it's constancy cross-border could be considered similar to the space, their position [the foreigner's] in it is largely determined by the fact of not belonging entirely to it, and their qualities cannot originate from it or come from it, nor even going in it." (SIMMEL, 2005: 1.)    

Furthermore, he adds:

“The foreigner, however, is also an element of the group, no more different than the others and, at the same time, distincted from what we consider as the 'internal enemy'. They are an element in whose position imanent and of member comprehend, at the same time, one outsider and the other insider." (SIMMEL, 2005: 1).

Here's why Henry, as Earl of Richmond, was not well seen by the Britons and the French, in spite of being "accepted" by them. Never forget that he would still be seen as an outsider by his own fellows. As Richard III would call Henry a bastard, one could understand this accusation with sociological  implications. English back then detested these foreigners and by the concept brought here by me from Simmel we can understand why. But we could also see being called a bastard as a way to point out Henry's localization. Where can the Earl of Richmond & soon-to-be king be located?

I have pointed this far the structures which were raised and caused a collapsed society to live broken in many, many ways and how this affected Henry this far. Seeing how foreigner he was, nonetheless, he did not belong neither to England (at first) nor to the Continent.

On that sense of word, says Simmel (2005: 3): 

"A foreigner is seen and felt, then, from one side, as someone absolutely mobiled, a wanderer. As a subject who comes up every now and then through specific contacts and yet, singularly, does not find vinculated organically to  anything or anyone, nominally, in regards to the established family, locals and profissionals”

Even though we find a dominant group of foreigners in France, as we are talking about of nobles displeased with the Yorkist cause and supporters of the Lancastrian House, they were not majority. Where can we locate Henry, then? We don't, because he was not a French and however well he could speak the language, it was not his birth language. The French culture was not passed nor naturalized by him through the teachings of a family or the church by the institutions: monarchy, church, family, parliament, etc; he would have been defeated a long time. But that he did manage to, using this popular expression, put things together and become the first king to die peacefully since Henry V, it tells us a lot. Not rarely an immigrant is accepted by a society whose demands are forced upon him, most of the times in aggressive ways. But it's not often either that we see a king occupying such place in society. 

Indeed, one might say that kings as Henry II and the conquerors before him were too foreigners, but not in the sociological way I'm explaining. Because the social structures were different. Henry's government were settled in a more centralized ruling, far more just and peaceful, more economic and less concerned with waging wars than his antecessors. The need to migrate was not 'forced', neither 'imposed' and even back to the 11th and 12th centuries were motivated by different reasons. That's to accentuate how English society evolved throughout the centuries. And I used again and again Georg Simmel to prove my point about casting a sociological light towards Henry VII not as a historical character so distant of us and who remains an object of controversial discussions, but a man of his times who was forced to deal with expectations that placed him in social positions nearly opposed to one another to fulfill each role whether as king or as a man. For some reason, the broken society shaped Henry as an immigrant, but as history shows us, it was this immigrant who helped shape medieval society, directing it towards the age of Renaissance and in posteriority to Modern Age.

Finally, to close this thread I leave here another quote (translated to English by me) found in the text written by Simmel: 

"The foreigner, strange to the group [he is in], is considered and seen as a non-belonging being, even if this individual is an organic member of the group whose uniform life comprehends every particular conditioning of this social [mean]. (...) [the foreigner] earns in certain groups of masses a proximity and distance that distinguishes quantities in each relationship, even in smaller portions. Where each marked relationship nduced to a mutual tension in specific relationships, strenghtening more formal relations out of respect to what's considered 'foreigner' of which are resulted." (SIMMEL, p 7). 

Bibliography: 

AMIN, Nathen. https://henrytudorsociety.com/

DURKHEIM, Émile. "The Division of Labor in Society”.

KANTOROWICZ, Ernst H.”The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieavel Political Theology.”

PENN, Thomas. Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England.

SIMMEL, Georg. The Foreigner. In: Soziologie. Untersuchungen über die Formen der Vergesellschaftung. Berlin. 1908.

[harry-leroy]

OK. I've got to ask--Henry VI? I think you're the first person I've met who claims those as their favorite Shakespeare. I'll admit that I've read and seen a fair bit of Shakespeare, but I'm not familiar with them at all. What's the appeal? Why do you love them? Sell them to me. ;)

Oh boy, here we go :))))) (Thank you for giving me permission to scream - I also think I’m the only person I’ve ever met who has those as their favorite Shakespeare plays). Also, as we’ve talked opera - I think these plays could make a great Wagnerian style opera cycle. 

First off, little disclaimer: I’m not a medievalist, so I can’t say that I’ve definitely got the best interpretation of the Wars of the Roses and the history that the H6 cycle covers. I know I do not - so you may read these plays and have totally different interpretations, and that’s great! This will kind of be how I came to love the plays and why they were (and still are) exciting for me to read. 

I will admit, these plays are a bit of a minefield (as my Shakespeare professor said during a lecture on the histories and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that descriptor). Some of these scenes are not as well written, and many of them are almost irrelevant to telling a tight-knit story, so things get cut. Sometimes 1H6 is just cut entirely from productions, and I might venture to say that it is probably the least performed Shakespeare play. We get lines like “O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn’d, / That I in a rage might shoot them at your faces” (1H6.4.4.79-80), which I might say is nearly on par with “a little touch of Harry in the night” from Henry V. But despite the unevenness, there is so much from these plays that are meaningful, heartbreaking, and that continue to fascinate me. There’s so much about power and leadership that we can learn from these plays - and perhaps that’s why I took an interest in 1990s British politics because there are actually some very interesting similarities happening - but also a lot we can learn about empathy, hope, and love. 

These plays have a lot of fascinating key players - it would honestly be a privilege to play any of them - and most (if not all) of these key players have some claim to power, just in the family lines they were born into. And this conflict is one that’s been building up since Richard II. With the Wars of the Roses we have a man who is unwilling, and sometimes unable to lead because of various circumstances, some of which having to do with his mental health, which was generally poor, and some of which have to do with the various times he was dethroned, captured, etc. - and I say unable for lack of a better word. Essentially, politics in these plays are caving in, and at a very rapid pace. There’s a hole at the center of government and people are ambitious to fill it. We also have a lot of people who could potentially fill that role, people who on principle, have a lot of political enemies. The nobles in these plays are having to assure that they themselves are in power or that their ally is in power, otherwise it is their livelihood at stake. 

We have Henry VI, who was made king at nine months old after the untimely death of his father, the famous Henry V, and basically has people swarming him since birth claiming that they’re working in his best interest. He’s a bit of a self-preservationist to start, but by the end we see a man completely transformed by the horrors of war and ruthless politics. I also think he might be the only Shakespeare character who gets his entire life played out on stage. We see him at every stage of his life, which makes his descent all the more bitter. (One cannot help but see the broken man he is at forty-nine and be forced to remember the spritely, kind boy he was at ten). He’s a man who clings closely to God in an environment where God seems to be absent. He desires peace, if nothing else, and he wants to achieve this by talking things through. He’s an excellent orator (one only needs to look at the “Ay Margaret; my heart is drown’d with grief” monologue from 2H6, but there are countless other examples), but there’s a point where even he realizes that his talking will achieve nothing, and his alternative is heartbreaking. 

We have his wife, Queen Margaret, otherwise known as Margaret of Anjou, or the “she-wolf of France”. I advertise her as “if you like Lady Macbeth, you’ll love Margaret of Anjou”. Sometimes Shakespeare can portray her as wanting power for herself, but I genuinely think she wanted a good life for her husband and her child, otherwise the alternative is begging at her uncle’s feet for protection in France (her uncle was Charles VII of France) while separated from her husband, having her or a member of her immediate family be killed, or worse. I think it’s important to remember with Margaret that historically she came from a family where women took power if their husbands were unable to. Her assumption of power in these plays is something that’s natural to her, even if it’s not reflected very well in Shakespeare’s language. You also see some fantastically thrilling monologues from Margaret as well, especially her molehill speech (one of two molehill speeches in 3H6, totally different in nature - the other one is from a heartbroken and forlorn Henry after the Battle of Towton) - Margaret’s monologue has got the energy of a hungry cat holding a mouse by the tail. 

Also Henry and Margaret have a fascinating relationship. Because they’re so different in how they resolve conflicts, they grow somewhat disenchanted with each other at times, and can actually be mean to one another, despite their love. My favorite scene might be at the start of 3H6, where Margaret has come in with their seven year old son, Edward, and starts berating Henry for giving the line of succession to the Yorkists. What strikes me there is that we have a little boy having to choose between staying with his mom, or going with his dad - it’s something very domestic, and I think the emotional accessibility of that scene is what makes it memorable. It’s not about politics for me at that moment, it’s about a boy having to choose between his very estranged parents. Here’s a little taste from 1.1. in 3H6 - lines 255-261: 

QUEEN MARGARET: Come son, let’s away. / Our army is ready; come, we’ll after them. 

KING HENRY: Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. 

QUEEN MARGARET: Thou hast spoke too much already. Get thee gone. 

KING HENRY: Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? 

QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, to be murdered by his enemies. 

We also have Richard, Duke of York, who is Henry’s cousin and leader of the Yorkist faction. If you’re at all familiar with 1990s British politics, as I have grown close to over the past month, York reminds me very much of Michael Heseltine (filthy rich and constantly vying for power) - and I would love to stage some kind of modern H6 cycle production just so I could make that connection. York’s father is one of the three traitors executed by Henry V at the start of H5, leaving him an orphan at four years old (historically). He is also Aumerle’s (from R2) nephew, and so when Aumerle dies at the Battle of Agincourt, little four year old Richard inherits both his father’s money and titles, and his uncle’s money and titles, making him the second richest nobleman in England behind the King. All this information is historical and doesn’t really show up in the play, but I think that kind of background would give a man some entitlement. He’s also next in line for the throne if something were to happen to Henry (until Henry has a son), so he feels it is his duty as heir to the throne to protect Henry (or in better words, he feels that he should be running the show) - Margaret feels that it is her duty to protect Henry as she is his wife and mother of Edward of Westminster, the Lancastrian heir, and so you can see where these two are going to disagree. 

More fascinating are York’s sons, Edward, George, and Richard. Edward is this (for lack of better words) “hip” eighteen year old who comes and shreds things up at the Battle of Towton - becoming Edward IV in the process and chasing Henry off the throne. He is incredibly problematic, but I might venture to say that he’s the least problematic of the trio of York brothers. George of Clarence is (also for lack of better words) “a hot mess” and feels entitled to power, even though he may not readily give his motivations for it. I think he just wants it, and so he actually ends up switching sides mid-3H6 because he would actually be in a better position in government with those new allies. And finally, we have Richard of Gloucester (future Richard III), and in 3H6, you just get to see him sparkle. It puzzles me a bit how people can just jump into Richard III without getting any of the lead up that Shakespeare gave in the H6 cycle, and I think 3H6 is the perfect play to see that. I think it clears up a lot of his motivation, which Shakespeare didn’t get perfectly either, because there are some ableist things going on with these plays. He’s just as bloodthirsty, just as cynical, but in this play, he wins out the day. 

These are just a few of the main characters. We’ve also got Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick (known to history as “The Kingmaker”), who is this incredibly powerful nobleman who is wicked skilled in battle and seems to have a lot of luck in that area (until he doesn’t). We’ve got Clifford, who is just as bloodthirsty as Richard III (if not more so). We’ve also got Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester - Henry’s uncle and quite unpopular with his fellow noblemen, and Eleanor Cobham, his wife who gets caught in the act of witchcraft. (Talk to my lovely friend @nuingiliath if you want to hear about Humphrey or Eleanor). Joan of Arc also makes an appearance in 1H6, and often she’s the only reason that 1H6 gets performed. 

There are so many ways to latch onto this cycle, and it can be for the huge arcs that these characters go on, or it can be for the very small reasons, like in the first scene of 3H6, like I mentioned earlier. It’s very much akin to Titus Andronicus in the language (I did a bit of research a while ago about the use of animal-focused language in Shakespeare’s plays, and the H6 cycle and Titus Andronicus lead the charts just in terms of frequency of people being referred to metaphorically as animals- they’re also chronological neighbors, all written very early in Shakespeare’s career). Also, these plays held a huge amount of weight at the time they were written - the effects of the Wars of the Roses were still pressing over the political climate of the 1590s. 

I think these plays are great to read just in being able to contextualize the histories as a whole - you get to know how things fared after Henry V (spoiler: not well), and you also get the lead up to Richard III. The ghosts in Richard’s dream make sense after reading the H6 cycle - because those ghosts lived in the H6 cycle, and (spoiler: Richard wronged them in the H6 cycle). They were also the first of Shakespeare’s history plays, so you read subsequent histories plays that make subtle references to the H6 cycle, and I think you can take so much more out of the rest of the histories plays once you’ve read these. 

I hope this was a little informative, and perhaps persuaded you to check them out! 

Productions I recommend (you can click on the bold titles and it’ll take you to where you can access these productions): 

Shakespeare’s Globe at Barnet (2013) // Graham Butler (Henry VI), Mary Doherty (Margaret of Anjou), Brendan O’Hea (Richard, Duke of York), Simon Harrison (Richard of Gloucester) - filmed at Barnet, location of the Battle of Barnet, where Warwick was killed in 1471. 

ESC Production (1990) // Paul Brennen (Henry VI), June Watson (Margaret of Anjou), Barry Stanton (Richard, Duke of York), Andrew Jarvis (Richard of Gloucester) - a more modern production, one cast put together all seven major Plantagenet history plays (1H6 and 2H6 are combined into one play - a normal practice). Sometimes this footage can be a bit fuzzy, but I loved this production. 

The Hollow Crown Season 2 // Tom Sturridge (Henry VI), Sophie Okonedo (Margaret of Anjou), Adrian Dunbar (Richard, Duke of York), Benedict Cumberbatch (Richard of Gloucester) - done in a film-like style, also with some pretty big name actors as you can see. Season 1 stars Ben Whishaw as Richard II, Jeremy Irons as Henry IV, Simon Russell Beale as Falstaff, and Tom Hiddleston as Hal/Henry V. (also available on iTunes) 

RSC Wars of the Roses (1965) // David Warner (Henry VI), Peggy Ashcroft (Margaret of Anjou), Donald Sinden (Richard, Duke of York), Ian Holm (Richard of Gloucester) - black and white film, done in parts on YouTube. 

BBC Henry VI Plays (1983) // Peter Benson (Henry VI), Julia Foster (Margaret of Anjou), Bernard Hill (Richard, Duke of York), Ron Cook (Richard of Gloucester) - features my favorite filmed performance of Edward IV (played by Brian Protheroe), and my favorite filmed performance of Warwick (played by Mark Wing-Davey). 

Also if you ever get to see Rosa Joshi’s production of an all female H6 cycle... *like every time I see photos my immediate reaction is *heart eyes* I haven’t seen it yet, but my amazing friend and fellow Shakespearean @princess-of-france has - I’m sure she’d love to talk more about it sometime! I’ll leave a picture I found on the internet... 

Also tagging @suits-of-woe because we could cry about these plays all day. 

[emmaofnormandy]

The alliance of the houses Targaryen and Tudor.

The cold war came effectively to an end. The winter was defeated at least. It brought Westeros the sensation of relief for being released of a heavy burden that was so long ignored, tossed it to old songs. It came with a great cust, though, and even Daenerys Targaryen had her own losses to deal with. Amongst them were her lover, Jon Snow (or should he be now conveniently reminded as Aegon Targaryen, the lost son of her brother to a Northern lady?), and the best of her men, her knight and wise counsellor, Ser Jorah Mormont. Worse of all, perhaps, was the death of a son of hers. Viseryon's life was shortened by the cold spear of the undead night king that crossed his heart. A scene she’d never forget.

Victory custed too much for the silver haired self entitled queen of Westeros. But she survived. She also escaped machinations articulated between Bran Stark and his sister, Lady Sansa, but she would deal with them later. A more important war was to come. She fled back to Dragonstone then, where she reunited with the remaining forces the dreadful war could not destroy.

She had to look composed as a queen as herself should be. The time to defeat a usurper as Cersei Lannister was to come and she had no time to grief. On that particular morning she left bed earlier than the rising sun and with her hair slightly loose, dressed herself accordingly the colours of her House: black and red. Missandei soon woke and joined her mistress and friend in the privy chambers made of stones where the fireplace was still alight.

In silence, both women greeted with small smiles and an exchange of friendly glances before Missandei began to brush the silvery locks of Daenerys. Once all was set, they went to have their morning meal at what Dany named “throne room”, once occupied by her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror.

There, she surrounded herself with Grey Worm, Missandei, the Spider, Tyrion Lannister and Barristan Selmy. Once the first rays of light broke through the open windows of the room, Dany, who chiefed her small council, began the meeting:

“Greetings to all”, she began, nodding her head out of respect for each of there present. “I know many of you wished to remain in your warm beds, but the urgence of matters prevent us for sleeping any further”.

She awaited as the warm liquid served by her servants was well swallowen in the respective throats of her trusted men-and woman-, so the honey mead would wake them up.

“I have reports that the queen has been guarding the capital well”, announced Varys, or the Spider as he was popular known. “Your Grace, she took children and women under her embrace. If I may speak so, I’d advise you not to attack directly the Red Keep.”

Daenerys said nothing, but a nod of her head indicated she listened. Tyrion followed:

“Well, discipline and order are what Grey Worm and his men know best”, and here he exchanged looks with the Unsullied man. “But if I could give you any advice concerning invasion is this: spare the civilians and the town will be yours.”

“But the Lannister army is big”, Dany pointed it out. “She also took the men who served the House Tyrell and those who also served the Tyrell’s by extent. What can we do about these men, Lord Tyrion?”

“We should bring the war to them”, he affirmed, “but out of the Capital.”

“How should we trust they would leave unguarded King’s Landing?” Dany pushed.

The sun hasn’t reached the high skies and tension was in the air. No one there present had the answer to her questions, questions that were most properly asked and showed how clever was Daenerys Targaryen. But brain was not enough to beat a war, and strategies were urged to be thought. To the queen’s displeasure, Cersei Lannister held advantage there.

Grey Worm spoke at last, breaking the awkward silence that had instaured between the group, aware how the abscence of Ser Jorah was an important player sadly missing by sadder circumnstances which took his life away.

“We have enough men to break through the defenses of the Capital”, said he, “and of course there is not a single intention of our part to involve innocents in this bloody shit. Yet, war is war and we must be prepared for losses. What I was thinking was this: a man of my trust leads the front invasion whilst I, with the other half of the men left under my charge, attempt to drive the main forces of the Lannisters out of the capital.”

“It is a good plan”, Dany admitted it, “but I still see flaws on it. Unfortunately we are outnumbered and...”

A knock on the door interrupted the already tiring discussions, surprising those present and even the queen was intrigued at who might be. She told Grey Worm to open the door and, as he did so, they are all caught off guard by the presence of one Unsullied and a man dressed in different robes that Dany never saw before.

“Yes?” she inquired curiously.

“Good day my lady, my lords.” The said man approached once permission was granted. He seemed afflicted and Dany wondered why. He was of blonde hair, an oval face clean of beard--which indicated a young age, she assumed- with light blue eyes and a red-ish mouth. His robes seemed simple, but Dany took no long to perceive he was but a messenger. Question was: who sent this young lad?

“The name is Edward Wydeville”, he so presented himself. “I was sent all this way by Henry Tudor, earl of Richmond.”

Dany was very, very intrigued by this.

“Never heard of such a man, Ser Edward.” She said before giving the said Edward a smile. “Allow me to present myself, then. I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons”

Ser Edward Wydeville bowed respectfully and somehow that handsome man did not appear to be on Cersei’s side, but Dany knew by now she could not rely on appearances and that she should be careful. 

“It is a delight to be at your presence, Your Grace”, said the Wydeville man. “My lord the earl of Richmond is a king-to-be also and he is in need of allies to take what was wrongfully stolen from his: the throne of England.”

“How convenient”, murmured Tyrion under his breath.

But Dany did not give the dwarf any attention. 

“England? Never heard of such a realm.”

Ser Edward explained it properly and suddenly all the eyes were on this pale-ish knight man who somehow reminded Dany of her beloved friend Jorah Mormont.

“I see”, she said after a while. “But I have a war on my own to wage, Ser Edward. I am not sure...”

Much for her surprise, however, Varys interrupted her by saying:

“How many men are serving this Tudor lad, my lord?”

“King Henry, my lord”, ser Edward corrected Varys, which amused Dany. “He has an army of 2,000 men but it’s not enough.”

And suddenly Dany could see where this was all going to. All of a sudden, there was hope.

“Is His Grace”, she thought wise to address  properly a man whose claim to his own throne in this said realm of England much echoed hers to Westeros, “here? Is he aware that you came to seek for my aid? But, mostly important: why did he look for my help and not Queen Cersei?”

But Ser Edward Wydeville did not back upon the dragon queen’s response. He looked into Daenerys’ eyes and said:

“Because my lord the king knows an usurper when he sees one, and Your Grace is the rightful queen of Westerosi’s throne.”

There was more than this, Dany supposed, but still she decided to meet this King Henry Tudor in person.

“Well, I suppose he landed here. Bring him personally, Ser Edward. Tell His Grace that Queen Daenerys wishes to see him.”

Ser Edward flashed the silvery queen a relieved smile and bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

So he departed. Once he did all eyes were on hers, but apparently Varys comprehended truly what was forming in the dragon queen’s mind. Tyrion, however, looked unpleased, which did not escape Dany’s eyes. But it was time to achieve victory and she would do all she could to conquer what was wrongfully taken from her family.

*                                                                *                                                  *

The earl of Richmond was now styled Henry Tudor, King of England, Prince of Wales and Duke of Lancaster even if living abroad all those years meant not he held such titles as he did in paper. Time to replace the Yorkist usurper, the malign king Richard III, was coming, but despite the coyness of the king of France, he had to look for other allies for aid in his conquest.

His uncle Jasper Tudor told him there was a realm not too far from the British isles, but a little further from France, where there was a queen who shared his fate. At first, Henry understood nothing of why he should search for the aid of someone who, like himself, was struggling to take his throne. But the earl of Pembroke innocently suggested:

“She has two living dragons, creatures once thought to be mythical. I do not doubt she would easily smash her rivals in her own war”, he said, “but her dynasty must go on and she’ll marry to fill her duty. She is in the same position as yourself, nephew.”

“I thought I’d marry the Yorkist princess”, Henry reminded him.

But Jasper shrugged his shoulders.

“A woman with dragons seems to me far more powerful and important than a daughter of an usurper. Peace will bond two realms, I’m sure.”

“She will require something of me”, he sighed, “before anything is dealt.”

“A risk we should take”, Jasper suggested. “Politics is always dealing with both sides, nephew. You cannot expect to arrange a deal that benefits you only, even though such political treatments are often made for this purpose. As a king, you must look well for the realm you are to rule.”

Henry could see where he was going to, but he was still unsure about it. 

“We have our own wars to fight”, he told his uncle. “Why fighting for others’?”

But the argument was interrupted upon the arrival of Ser Edward Wydeville, who seemed optimist. 

“She has a good deal of men to help our cause”, he told them, to the delight of the earl of Pembroke, “but maybe she expects our help in turn”.

“This was expected”, said Jasper, pleased by what he heard. “Go on, Henry. We must do whatever it takes to reach that throne of yours.”

So the game of thrones finally began, the man thought.

*                                                            *                                                         *

Daenerys was waiting for the visitor in the chambers where it was said Aegon was spending his time when idea of conquering Westeros flashed before his eyes like a vision. It was, therefore, most significant that she agreed to wait for him there.

Dressed in red, she asked Missandei to braid her silver hair as beautifully as possible. She expected to impress this Tudor king, after all, they had so much in common.

“Fret not, Your Grace”, said Missandei, “he’ll be of your liking and you will be of his.”

She giggled and the sound relaxed Dany a little. She had had little time to laugh or to be remembered she was a woman, after all, with sentiments and needs. Ever since Jon betrayed her and even upon his death, she felt weirdly abandoned, pushed to her own luck. She lost the North’s support, but she’d win them and all those who refused to bend their knee. All she could think was...

“Your Grace, Henry Tudor, King of England, Prince of Wales and Duke of Lancaster is here”, Missandei announced, bringing Daenerys back to reality.

Henry entered like he was a king already crowned, even though insecurity betrayed his eyes. However, despite the confidence displayed, Daenerys saw more of it. She caught herself surprised by finding him handsome: tall, elegant, charming. Henry possessed all in his presence: his shortened light brown hair, his light brown eyes, his long nose, his lips... It was almost inevitably that her eyes fell upon the well built muscles underneath his rich robes, but a blush on her cheeks upon noticing it quickly made her eyes look away.

Henry too was surprised to be at the presence of a beautiful woman as Daenerys. She was by far the handsomest lady he’d ever put his eyes on. Her hair was of a silver colour he’d never seen it in any of her sex, her lilac eyes all the same: never ever he thought possible to dive in eyes like hers. Her complexions made her fair, her body suited well in the red gown... To his pride, he was remembered of the House of Lancaster. Perhaps not all was too lost. And they smiled to each other because they knew it.

“Your Grace”, she moved towards him and thought wise to greet him with a gracious curtsy. “Welcome to Dragonstone”.

Henry smiled and bowed appropriatedly.

“Your Grace” he replied. “Thank you for receiving me.”

“I trust the journey was well?”

“To be fair, I have been accostumed to long journeys” said Henry “as I was particularly raised abroad.”

“Oh?”

Henry smiled at her confusion.

“I was born in England, a realm not too far from Westeros, my lady. But there happened to be in a civil war where my uncle, who was the king of English subjects, was usurped. This war shattered my kingdom between two powerful houses, one of the York, responsible for those bloody tragedies, and the other of the Lancaster, my own, dethroned. For some reason, I represented danger to those Yorkists and was promptly raised on exile. I’m eight-and-twenty and have not been at home ever since I was four-and-ten.”

Daenerys frowned upon hearing this.

“I’m sorry to hear it”, she paused to ask Missandei to fetch them some wine as she leaded her guest to a seat to take next to hers. “I too knew nothing but exile, except most of my lifetime. Our stories are very similar, Your Grace. My father was the king of the Seven Kingdoms, a title that has been held for generations ever since Aegon, my several times grandfather, conquered and unite these kingdoms. But then... my brother fell out of his marriage to a Dornish girl, he loved a northern lady of name Lyanna and the two of them ran off. Her betrothed, Robert of the House Baratheon, caused a bloody civil war, sending most of us to death. My mother gave me birth right on this castle, in Dragonstone, but did not make it. I and my other brother had to survive depending on others out there.”

Henry looked shocked upon hearing this. Presuming Daenerys’ older brother died, she really had no one at her side. His uncle had a point where marriage alliances were concerned, and to be king of two kingdoms! But Henry was far more concerned in taking his own back. Nonetheless, he said:

“Our stories link too closely for my taste.”

Dany chuckled. She liked him.

“True, they do. But tell me your intentions, Your Grace. I don’t think you came all over to ask aid from an uncrowned queen. Your messager told me you acknowledge Cersei Lannister as an usurper, but even so... uncertaintities are pending to my side.”

Henry did not lie when he said:

“We need each other, Your Grace. Destiny is not something to be played upon.”

*                                                         *                                                            *

Henry Tudor was shocked. Perplexed, petrified even. He never thought mythological creatures were living beings. Daenerys laughed at his face. Drogon and Rhaegal looked unimpressed, though.

“They are real!” even uncle Jasper was surprised.

Dany was proudly told how the dragons were the symbol of a small kingdom named Wales. She loved that as she thought her children, as she told both Henry and Jasper Tudor, disappeared before she found them again. 

“They were once mythical in Westeros too”, she told them. “There was a civil war amongst my ancestors which we call ‘dance of dragons’. Back then, a woman could not rule on her right, so her claim was usurped by her half-brother. Eventually, this resulted in the killing of the poor creatures. Each generation they grew weaker until they were no more.”

“It’s an impressive story”, Henry said. “It reminds some of our kingdom’s history as well”, and he told her the story of Empress Matilda, lady of the English.

Daenerys sighed. 

“It saddens me that a woman cannot be taken seriously without a man at her side. These are treacherous creatures.” She laughed, but the sound of her laughter appeared sad to Henry’s eyes.

For some reason, he found himself offended by it.

“Not all of them are. I know most of them can be so, though. Ambition corrupts their souls before we know.” He grinned at it. “But some of us remain faithful to our beliefs.”

At that, Dany could not help a smirk.

“Aye, glad to hear you are not like most of them, Henry Tudor.”

And Jasper suddenly found himself excluded from the talk of the King and Queen, but this somehow brought a sincere smile to his lips. Not all was lost to the Lancastrian house, he thought.

*                                                               *                                                         *

Despite the evident danger, every early morning Henry Tudor stood carefully from a safe distance where the dragons of the House Targaryen were sleeping. He observed the different colours of their scales, and wondered what would be like to ride them. 

Daenerys told him the feeling, but he found himself eager to mount on one and, like a child, see the world. It was when Rhaegal opened an eye and stared at him. Henry froze, but somehow man and creature knew one would not harm the other. A chilly breeze came from the east and messed a little with Tudor’s hair. He knew he was wasting time there in Dragonstone, but as far as he knew... things could be worse. 

“Rhaegal likes you, I think.” Daenerys pointed it out, appearing before Henry knew. “How long have you been here, Henry?”

So they were calling each other’s name now, Henry smiled.

“Not very sure.” He admitted. “I could not sleep so I came over here.”

Dany smiled. 

“You are a dragon too, in your own way.”

“A welshman always is, I suppose.” He chuckled. “Hence the dragons on my flag.”

Her smile spreaded upon her lips and Henry decided he liked the view. He suspected the queen did not smile often, and as the days went by, turning to weeks, he learned why. Henry too had his own losses, but nothing dreadfully compared to hers. The self entitled king of England understood her better.

“Do you miss your home?” She asked. She needed to know.

“I do”, Henry was sincere. “And my lady mother the most. I’ve never my father, though my uncle, his brother, whom you’ve met, acts like one to me. Without them, I’d be nothing.”

“Sometimes I wonder what is like to have a family”, she admitted softly. “But we should discuss this later”, Dany composed before he could see right through her. “I came over to talk to you about something, Your Grace.”

It did not go unnoticed to Henry Tudor how much he preferred when he was addressed by his birth name rather than formal titles.

“I cannot long no more.” She was talking about war. “I need your support, that is why I have treated you as my guest, and entertained you as well as I could.”

It was true, though: despite her “poverty” in due respect to her position as queen-to-be, Dany was in no position to offer something lavishingly, but Henry and his comitive understood that too well. Regardless, somehow there was music, food and dancing. Uncle Jasper and his friends were pleased and it would not surprise Henry if he was told that Dragonstone was a fresh view after all those years in Brittany and France.

Nonetheless, all fun left aside, it was time to come to an agreement, which Henry hoped to be fair for both of them -since he was either in position to negotiate, anyway. She was his last hope.

“I will help your cause, Your Grace”, he said, “with one condition.”

Daenerys was not a fool to comprehend that alliances were forged following agreements that brought benefits for both sides. However, Henry Tudor carried enough men to help her cause and she’d do anything that her dignity agreed to it. Cersei needed to fall.

“Yes” she instigated him.

“I need your aid to help mine as well.”

It could be worse, Dany thought, but why did she feel disappointed? Was she expecting something different?

“Of course.” She agreed, somewhat tense, though. “I suspect within this mutual alliance there are other terms also? Whether in economic and political sense?”

Henry smiled, he appreciated her wit.

“Aye, Your Grace. We expect to favour Westeros over others in commerce terms and if one day Westeros is in need of aid, England will help you.”

“As otherwise”, she assumed, happy to know it. “Then we are now allies, Henry Tudor, King of England.”

“Aye, we are, Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Westeros.”

It was now time to part.

*                                                           *                                                        *

Jasper Tudor was a blessing and a good replacement, if such can be said, to the position left behind by Ser Jorah Mormont. His military experience was welcome to all those present in Daenerys Targaryen’s privy councill, especially by the queen herself.

It was thanks to him, alongside Grey Worm, that the queen’s army was able to be more organized. Soon, with proper training and planning, they were ready to set to the Capital.

“Are you good with swords, Your Grace?” The day before the final battle, she was found chatting with him, drinking some wine.

“I had my training”, Henry said, excusing himself from the lack of experience in battlefield. He blushed and it did not go unnoticed by Daenerys, who smiled. “I will do well.”

“I’m sure you do.”

There was silence between them, but one of the comfortable kind. As she served them two glasses of wine, Henry was caught curious about knowing her properly. So he inquired:

“Have you been married before, Your Grace?”

Daenerys looked at him surprised and thought seeing preoccupation in Tudor’s eyes for offending her. But she should know by now this question would eventually be asked.

“I have.” And she told him about Khal Drogo, and how her own brother Viserys sold her to a tribe of what she thought being barbarians, but eventually she brought them as their own kin. Even so, she never again remarried.... despite being close to Jon Snow. A lament sigh escaped her.

“I’m sorry about that.” Henry said, and he truly was. He too was eager to have a family himself, but considering his background... he was fearful of doing so, and his mind was ever in survival and his whereabouts when running constantly from his enemies before going to action. At long last.

“Don’t be. It made me who I am”, she assured him and her confidence surprised him. “I have faith in myself, Henry Tudor. So you should be, you are a survival too.”

They locked long gazes, but no one did a move. Finally, Dany stood and said:

“I’m off to sleep. The day will be long tomorrow. Have a good night, Henry Tudor.”

He found himself smiling.

“And you as well, Daenerys Targaryen.”

*                                                           *                                                        *

Despite Jasper’s efforts in placing his nephew to mount Rhaegal, Henry promptly refused. He needed to have experience on battlefield, and riding a dragon would not help him. Dany admired his courage, which reminded her for a moment of Jon Snow.

But they could never be alike, she thought. He was honest, good hearted and not likely to be manipulated by others, even if he loved his uncle dearly. Henry had his own views, stood for them, and was humble enough to look for other’s counsels. Besides, he was far handsomest than the Snow bastard, Daenerys thought mischievously.

There were no more thoughts about Tudor as the time came. The plan was to divide and conquer, simple as it might be, but more efficient. Dany had her and the Tudor men to make her cause successful. Not to mention, her dragons. Her children. But she would have to be careful, as Tyrion told her there were men with garnment appropriated to perfurate a dragon’s flesh.

That way, she followed Henry’s advise and made sure it was builted an appropriated armour to Drogon and Rhaegal. It delayed them fro two weeks, but it was enough to rest ease the Lannisters and reassure the Targaryen’s party confidence.

The day had come. It was before the dawn, before the sunlights began to colour the nightful sky that Daenerys Targaryen’s army reached the land. She flew above the clouds, always watchful in her steps and in her sons’. She could hear the screams from above and expected no children, no woman, no innocent would be harmed. 

She flew higher and smiled upon seeing Rhaegal and Drogon side by side. Such sight renewed the faith upon herself. Daenerys would bring back the Targaryens to the throne. 

The sun was rising. It was time, she thought. She turned far from the sea, flying to where the true battlefield was expected to event the bloodiest, and hopefully final, battle for her throne.

*                                                                   *                                                    *

Henry detested to admit to himself, but the mess of a battlefield could cause was horrible. Yet, it brought any man a terrific sensation of power. He was not as great swordsman as his uncle was, but he could managed a sword. Defeating this Lannister army renewed his purpose and hopes of earning his own throne back from the usurpers.

He saw the blood thirsty in his uncle’s eyes beneath the helmet and smiled upon himself. However loud it was, the sounds of sword against sword did not prevent any communications to his army. Despite the predictability of “dividing and conquering”, the Capital fell to the Targaryen’s side.

Henry participated in the release of the innocents and was side by side to Grey Worm as they ran indoors to take the Red Keep. The usurper queen, much to Tudor’s surprise, was present with an iron-made face, not so ready to give up her throne, her power.

“I see the mad woman sent her men to take me from here.” She said, her voice but in a whisper echoing nonetheless in all the iron throne. Her Greyjoy’s allies were defeated and the left of the Tyrell’s army defected to her enemy’s side. But a lioness would not give in. “She’s very much stupid.”

“If you have any dignity, it is better for you to leave where you are now, woman!” Henry found himself saying it patiently, surprised to himself he was forced to deal with... another woman on the throne. To his defense, he’d never seen this before.

Cersei laughed. But there was sadness in her eyes, for as she heard the battle cries outdoors, she was each time certain of the defeat and a shiver running over her spine only confirmed the shadow of death surrounded her.

“She used you, whomever you might be. To her own purposes. That woman you came to defend was as mad as her father. Why do you think dynasties fall and others come to rise? Because no one stand the old! No one bows for madness, no one takes idiocracies anymore!”

“Is usurpation a clean path for you?” Henry asked. “You know nothing, Cersei Lannister.”

And before he could say any longer, there came Daenerys Targaryen on Drogon. It was a mesmerizing but powerful image, Henry admired.

“Leave.” She told her men. “This is between me and her. She’s already defeated.”

The Unsullies made sure to guard the town whilst the Tudor men certified that the Red Keep was safe.

“You have two options”, declared Daenerys, mounted on Drogon. “You either surrender and I’ll forgive you, but have you to be locked with the Silent Sisters, or you will face punishment for treason.”

Again, Cersei laughed, but it was an empty laughter.

“I committed no treason.”

She held onto the iron throne. Daenerys stared at her proeminent enemy, the last liason to the fall of her ancestors. She sensed the presence of the ghosts of her family, each member she never knew. She knew they were there, ready to see their house restored to the glory stolen.

“Stand.” Her voice was filled with no emotion. Her eyes were hard, nearly narrowed.

Cersei held her breath.

“No.”

“Stand.” She rose her voice.

Two guards of Daenerys threatened to do it so, Cersei saw to it. She rose it, then. 

“Step forward.”

Cersei reluctantly did so, eyes filled with despise and fear. 

And then...

...then....

.....

Death came.

“Dracarys!”

*                                                               *                                                        *

As promised, Queen Daenerys promised to give Henry Tudor, King of England, the help he needed. She went as far as creating him Ward of the East, becoming Lord of the High Garden, a title that Jasper Tudor proudly saw fit (as their own emblem was a red rose).

“I am humbly thankful for your aid.” She thanked each man, bestowing Jasper the wardship of the Stormlands. “I shall never forget what you have done to restaure the glory of the House Targaryen to where it rightful belongs. The Queen will never forget her friends.”

And this was very much true for Henry and Jasper, most benefitted for such aid. Now, as rich men and owner of other lands along those they held rights to in their own homeland, they returned to England. But for Daenerys, it was difficult to say goodbye.

“May I have a word to Your Grace?” She inquired.

Henry agreed to it. They went to have a stroll around the gardens. She was nervous, and due to her last disappointments with men, it would not be surprised to see her reluctance. Somehow, the new Lord of High Garden understood it well.

So they paced in silence for long moments.

“I’ve grown fond of you, my lord.” Daenerys admitted it. “Not very sure the extent of it, though, but the moment I had my eyes on you... I knew you were different. Perhaps I’m a fool, think it as you will. But you gave me hopes, you were loyal and...”

Henry stopped pacing and turned his face to admire her beauty. His hands were, before he knew, holding hers. He knew somewhere behind the back of his mind he was possibly betrothed to somebody else, but... this was a much better match. Because he found himself besotted.

“I’ll never forget you, Dany.”

And he kissed her lips upon saying so. They did not know what tomorrow might bring and Daenerys would not like to know either. They kissed and she was glad for it. 

“Be careful there.”

Henry smiled. “I will. And you too.”

She smirked. “I still have a rebellion to deal with.”

“Perhaps I might come to your aid again”.

Dany flushed.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

They leaned into each other and embraced. She had her throne at what cust? Oh but she’d dearly missed him.

*                                                               *                                                       *

October, 1485. 

Henry Tudor was finally crowned King Henry of England, the Seventh of his name of the House Tudor, Prince of Wales, Duke of Lancaster, etc. It would be a difficult reign to rule upon, but Heny was ready. He was finally ready to it.

Alliances here, alliances there, he did not forget the one he’d like to wed. A letter had been sent, again in the person of Edward Wydeville. As Henry’s betrothed, Elizabeth of York, had died and the next heir was sent off to be married in Portugal, he was less than inclined to espouse the youngest daughters of the queen Dowager. So the powerful Daenerys was his choice.

The marriage happened in January of the next year and it was accorded they would spend six months in one realm and six months in another, to the delight of both parties. Daenerys with the aid of Henry VII of England defeated the Northern rebellion, having Brandon of the House Stark hanged for treason and Lady Sansa Stark marriaged off to Jasper Tudor. Curiously, this would become a happy marriage for them both.

It was all settled then with Queen Daenerys and King Henry. The rebellions in England were easily displaced not only through the aid of Dany’s dragons but the efficacy of the counsel of Tyrion Lannister and the archbishop Morton who were very fond of each other...after all, similar minds think alike.

To Daenerys’ surprise, she’d bear a good offspring in due time: towards the end of 1486, Rhaegar was born. He was followed by Henry in 1487. Margaret, the first princess, was born in 1490. She was also followed by Rhaella in 1492. Another boy, Edmund, came in the spring of 1494. Jaehaerys was born in the winter of 1496 and a pair of twins named Katherine and Aegon were born in 1498.

Upon the death of Daenerys in 1515, Rhaegar, as it was decided upon his birth, inherited the Westerosi throne and upon Henry VII’s death in the year after, Henry, the prince of Wales, became King Henry VIII. Margaret was married to the king of Scots, whilst Rhaella was married to the future emperor Charles V. Edmund would take his cousin, a daughter of Lady Sansa and Ser Jasper, as his wife, one day becoming the Lord of the Stormlands. Jaeharys sadly died in infancy. Katherine was sent to church and Aegon too did not live passed 10. 

That way, the Targaryen-Tudor family lived for many years, entwining the realms of England and Westeros in long propserity.

[thenotestoselfblog]

Short story: Battle of Bosworth, August 22, 1485

I fought for Richard technically, and somewhat begrudgingly. I was a Yorkist by misfortune of geography, and for lack of other options. All the men from my village felt the same way: Richard, however corrupt he was, had a better claim than Henry, and it was our duty to fight for the rightful king. In our hearts, we fought for Edward, Richard’s nephew and rightful heir, even though it was surely Richard who had sent him to the Tower.

I suppose I fought for Edward’s memory more than anything, which might seem a strange thing to fight for, but it’s no more strange than fighting for land or religion or honour. All war is strange. 

Weeks prior, I spoke my will, which was duly recorded. Five pounds: a modest sum, but enough for Joan to find a good man when I was gone. We had no children, but I told the scribe that I was ‘willing to die as a child of the Church’. There would be no church on the day of battle; only flesh and fear.

Every day before that day, I worked in the field. It was honest work. It gave me physical strength, and a knowledge of the land. But I had no skill as a soldier, only the experience of fighting in drunken brawls. Nevertheless, I needed to prepare as best as I could.

Being a peasant, I couldn’t afford armour, only something I could fashion for myself: layers of thick fibre cloth wrapped tightly to my body, but not so tight as to restrict my movement. Besides that, I had a pitchfork and my own wits. I could have carried a sword, but I decided on a weapon with range, to preserve distance with the enemy. People mocked my choice, to leave so much to Joan and to spend nothing at the blacksmith’s. It might have been the best decision I ever made.

I had no training in the art of war, like the rest of the farm-folk and laymen who joined me on the hill. The only training I had was what I could conjure in my imagination. I practiced thrusting the weapon in the weeks before the battle - late at night - so my wife would not be reminded of what awaited me in the field. Under summer stars, I heaved the fork deep into hay-bales, imagining the groans of dying men and the spilling of guts. I withdrew the pitchfork each time to find it covered with grass, not blood.

During the long evenings of June and July, I walked many miles with the weapon to build my endurance. I carried it in twenty different ways, to get used to the feel and weight of it. It was not heavy, but after hours of carrying it, it would become cumbersome and tiring. I ran with it sometimes to test my body’s limit, and learned to still my breath when I ran out of it. I knew nothing of battle, but I knew that fear would run me ragged if I did not know how to control it. 

———————————————————————————————

Thick clouds swirled over the field, hot and loud, the August sun sweating behind them. We mustered atop a hill, a mile or so south of Market Bosworth. The Yorkist leaders told us we had a good defensive position. There were thousands of us and more were joining. Men jostled with each other to stand at the back of the crowd, far away from the downhill slope that lay between us and Henry’s men. Maybe it was pathetic but I did the same. I didn’t want to die first, and if I could help it, I didn’t want to die at all. All of the commonfolk gathered that day had such hard, disappointing lives but we so desperately wanted to live.

 I had never seen a cannon before, and yet here, us Yorkists had several. Archers took up their positions, and knights on horses. This increased my confidence. Henry’s forces, way over on the horizon, appeared to have none of these luxuries. We must have outnumbered them by three to one. Even for someone so unversed in battle as myself, victory seemed certain, though I had no convictions about my own fate.

A soldier carries in him the stupid hope that he is worth saving, and though I believed in God, I knew he would look out for me no more than any other man on that field. 

Horns blared, and the arrow of time moved irrevocably towards destruction. The battle had begun. There was a magnificent strain in my body. I had never been more fearful in my entire life, and never felt so alive.

I wouldn’t dare utter a word of it to my comrades, but I knew that I would not go to meet the battle. There were braver and stupider men than me who would do that. If my hand was forced, then I would have no choice but to try and survive, and I would need to let something greater than men decide if I was worthy of another day.

I glanced at the Yorkist faces around me, and it turned out that there were few men, far fewer than I expected. Even among the eldest, I saw boyish faces, children merely posing as men, petrified and thinking of their mothers. I have no doubt my face looked the same to them too.

Pockets of laughter jolted me out of fear, and God knows, I needed it.

We held our position on the hill, and watched as Henry’s forces crept over the horizon. Their numbers seemed to grow as they approached. Our archers loosed arrows from the crest of the hill. Each barrage brought a handful of bodies down. I cheered with the other men, even though I should have been ashamed. Men were a pointless statistic at that kind of range.

Soon I heard war-cries from the far side of the hill. We responded by sending our own notes of fear down there. There could have been seconds or minutes separating the two sides. I was too far back to see. I felt the pressure of bodies around me as we squeezed tight, preparing for some sort of impact force. My body had been braced all morning, but it found a new level of tension. Piss ran down my trembling legs. 

And that’s when the battle came to me. We were blindsided. I hadn’t realised at the time, but these were Stanley’s forces, who supported Henry from the flank. Lord Stanley, first Earl of Derby, was supposed to be helping us! What little us commoners knew. 

We were overwhelmed. Yorkists fled in all directions, and either met Henry’s cavalry riding towards them, or Stanley’s hidden men, charging from the sides. A tidal wave of desperate bodies came over the hill, lunging metal into any place where it might stick. It moved so fast that I could no longer distinguish between sides. Once I found a little space, a jabbed towards anything that came close. I couldn’t even stave off the first wave of attack.

I was struck down by a footsoldier. He could easily have been one of us, but it was irrelevant. He dodged a jab of my fork and slashed a line across my gut. My innards threatened to fall out there and then, but I somehow managed to tilt my body backwards on to the mud. In the shock of it all, I didn’t manage to scream. I felt a distant pain, which was superseded by the desire to vomit.

I closed my eyes and curled into a ball. I was sweating; a great sickness had taken over me. The ground shook with the thunderous steps of thousands of men. I passed out, and woke up again when the fury of battle had moved elsewhere.

How pitiful it was, my shortlived career in combat. And of course it wasn’t just me, but me was all I could think about as I writhed in the mud, beginning death. The waste of it all caught me by surprise.

I don’t know why the footsoldier didn’t finish me off there and then. Perhaps he knew he’d done enough, and found another farmhand to slaughter. I was so bitter and resentful. I knew I wasn’t truly prepared to kill anyone that day, and I thought that the injustice of it gave me some sort of moral high ground. It was little comfort with my spleen ripped open.

Later, amid my groans of pain and seemingly interminable death, I shouted ‘Coward!’ and ‘Disgrace!’ to the man who had struck me, though he was likely long gone, probably in a free house somewhere enjoying a celebratory pint of ale.

I laughed at the absurdity of war, and death, and all the hopelessness of that day. And I laughed at the absurd beauty of the last vestiges of life. Men taking their final breaths, making their final prayers, kissing tokens that reminded them of home, for home was where they were going.

I wept with pity for those who would survive. They would live on in suffering, in the knowledge that they had done dark deeds. Perhaps they would be relieved to live for another day, but they would never erase from their mind what they had seen, heard and felt. Then I turned my pity inward, for I would never see my wife’s face again. Joan - sweet, blessed Joan - the thought of never seeing her again was more painful than any physical wound. My body convulsed as it brought forth tears. I screamed like a birthing mother, knowing only pain. I lost myself.

When I calmed, I thought of Joan and our lost child. Was it my fault? Had I not been enough of a man to give her what was her natural right? War, I hoped, would be a chance to correct my failures as a man. If I showed courage, and found a way to survive, maybe I would one day give her a child.

Joan loved me - I knew that - but I knew how she saw me, as a man ready to accept life, rather than going out to meet it. She told me I was enough for her, but I couldn’t trust it. Perhaps the problem was that I wasn’t enough for myself. I realised that the reason why I had been standing on the hill with a pitchfork that morning was not political, it was philosophical. I wanted to show I had what it took be a man. What a delusion it was. I felt everything but man now.

I hoped I would be dead before the day was done, but the night held me in her arms instead. She was kind to me. The skies cleared, and though the mud was cold, the air was warm. Taking my last breaths, I gazed at the pregnant moon, wondering if there might be anything beyond it, anything greater. I was raised to believe that heaven lay up there, but it didn’t really matter to me now. There was only wonder.