Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (30 page)

 

CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Later that evening, the guards at the Tower led Denys to a small
chamber and stood posted in the doorway. Denys shivered as she
walking in through the door, to be greeted by the young Earl of
Warwick.  If it had not been for her brother's sudden
inclination for mercy, she too would have ended up a prisoner
here, and not just a guest.
It was this reflection on strange twists of fate which had led her
to urge her husband to return to the north ahead of her, while she
remained behind to conclude a few pieces of business. 
The young man reminded her painfully of his father, the dashingly
irrepressible George. But there the resemblance ended, for he was
gazing at her with a slightly confused and childlike expression of
wonder in his gray eyes. "May I help you, Mistress? Or are you
here to see my wife?"
"Hello, Edward. I am Denys. I was a friend of your father, and a
very dear friend of your Uncle Richard."
She did not refer to herself as King Henry's sister. Now that
Henry had his first son, she knew that as the last of the Yorkist
Plantagenet line, Edward's days were numbered. It would simply be
a matter of time before Henry eliminated Edward, and spirited his
wife and daughters into obscurity. Edward was Denys' last link to
her past, and the impulse to call on him had recently become very
strong.
Edward's eyes instantly lit up in recognition at the sound of his
uncle's name, and she could see his father George's mischievous
twinkle behind the darkness brought about by a lifetime of
imprisonment. His very pregnant looking wife Sabine joined them,
followed by their two toddlers, Topaz and Amethyst.
Denys watched them chasing each other, pulling each other's hair,
not yet aware of the pain and suffering they were to endure
because of who they were. Little Topaz sat in the window seat and
placed a gold circlet on her head.
She sat up straight and tall, looking like a child queen.
"Topaz, you are a little jewel, and so are you, Amethyst!" Denys
laughed, pointing to the small but proud figure.
Topaz bowed her head with a dignified smile.
"Topaz is all ready to take over the throne," Denys jested. "She
looks like a queen already."
"We shall never know, shall we?" said Sabine. "Who knows which way
the wayward crown will go after we're gone."
Denys gave them all a few small gifts and the basket of food she
had brought. It was not much, but Sabine took it with obvious
gratitude and immediately began to portion out the victuals for
her husband and daughters, keeping back only a small scrap for
herself.
"I shall send more," Denys promised in a whisper, before moving
toward the door. "But for now I must go and would not like to
interrupt your family time any further."
"Thank you. God bless."
"Aye, and you."  Denys bade them farewell and hurried from
the place, pausing at the guardroom just long enough to tell them
to expect parcels regularly from the north henceforward for the
little family.
They were deferential to her due to the royal seal on her papers,
but she could see their looks.
Why give food to dead people.
She shook the dust from her feet as she left the gloomy prison.
She would speak to Valentine about what to do for the best. He
would know how to approach this problem and try to save them, she
was sure. The sooner she arrived home, the better. 
Swinging up onto her mount, she began to head north, the crowded
buildings soon giving way to greenery and the tree-lined road
north. As she rode, she reflected that her voyages of discovery
were now truly at an end. She knew who she was, and was now
heading home to everything she had ever hoped for in her
life-someone who loved her for herself, not for the power she
could bring.
"I am on my way home to you, Valentine!" she nearly sang as her
mount galloped up the road, made crimson by the late summer
twilight.
She reflected on the aptness of his name as she imagined in her
mind's eye the joyous reunion they would share as soon as she
returned home. Valentine, the patron saint of lovers. He certainly
had brought her love, and so much more. She had found her family,
set to rest the ghosts of the past, and had a son and another
child on the way with whom to share whatever future they could
manage to secure for themselves in this new Tudor world her
brother had brought about.
Plantagenet, Lancastrian, Tudor… They all ate, slept, prayed, made
love, hoped for peace, dreaded war. They lived, laughed and loved,
no matter what they were called. Denys prayed her brother would
have the wisdom to see that and allow her and her family to remain
in peace.
As she rode along, she espied a figure in the distance, heading
towards her on a fine mount. Her heart gave a little leap, for
surely no other man's hair gleamed like spun gold...
"Valentine!" she called, and spurred her mount.
He waved, and closed the distance between them in a matter of
moments. He swept her out of her saddle and into his lap, where he
kissed her thoroughly. When they broke apart at last, she asked,
"What is wrong? Why are you here? I thought we agreed you should
head home as soon as possible in case Henry changed his mind."
"I started to go, but feared he might change his mind about you.
So I waited at the inn just north of here, and have been waiting
for any sign of you ever since we parted."
"All is well, Valentine. Henry bears no grudge towards us."
"Thank God for it."
"But I thank you for your concern." She kissed him
soundly.  
 "It is the least I can do. You were about to lay down your
life for mine, after all, due to my stubborn pride and sense of
honor."
"It's who you are. You can't help it, any more than I can help
being a Tudor by birth."
"I told you when you set out on your journey of discovery, my
dear, that you would always be Denys to me, and that would be more
than enough."
She beamed up at him, her love shining in her eyes bathing him in
a warm glow. "Being a Starbury is more than enough. And as for the
value of name, Valentine, my darling, thy name is love to me!"
"I love you, Denys, now and for all time. Let's go home. Richard
will be eager to see his parents, and we to see him."
"Aye, home, my love," she said, nestling into his arms, and
knowing she was already there. 
EPILOGUE
Cristoforo Colombo didn't forget Denys and Valentine's generosity.
On his fourth voyage to the New World, after finally securing the
financial backing of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain,
he named one of the islands La Huerta, which means "The Orchard."
Don't miss Book Three of The Yorkist Saga,
The
Jewels of Warwick
.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to extend my sincerest thanks to the Richard III
Society, notably Peter and Carolyn Hammond in London, for their
assistance with my research. The Barton Library documents were
especially helpful.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Ashdown, Mrs. Charles H.,
British Costume During Nineteen Centuries
Banks, F.R.,
The
Penguin Guide to London
Braudel, Fernand,
The Structures of Everyday Life
Burke, John,
The
Castle in Medieval England
Doherty, P.C.,
The
Fate of Princes
Durant, Will,
The
Story of Civilization
Gies, Joseph and Frances,
Life in a Medieval Castle
Griffiths, Arthur,
The Chronicles of Newgate
Harrison, Molly,
How They Lived, 1485-1700
Jenkins, Elizabeth,
The Princes in the Tower
Kendall, Paul Murray,
The Yorkist Age
Kendall, Paul Murray,
Richard III
Markham, Clements,
Richard III
Newark, Timothy,
Medieval Warfare
Quennell, Marjorie and C.B.,
History of Everyday Things in England,
1066-1799
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Medieval
Britain
St. Aubyn, Giles,
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The English Mediaeval House
 
Here is an excerpt from
The Jewels of
Warwick
:
PROLOGUE
The Tower of London, 1499
Sabine shivered violently. The dampness chilled her bones through
the threadbare shawl. Clasping her daughter's tiny hand, she
climbed the winding stone steps of the Bell Tower. Weak light
spilled from arrow slits cut into the wall.
When they finally reached the top, they huddled within an alcove.
Sabine warmed Topaz's fingers with ragged breaths.
The slam of a door crashed and echoed like thunder. They jumped,
startled.
The scraping of chains over the floor grew closer. Two burly
guards emerged from the shadows, dragging a prisoner. Bleeding
from his mouth, he whimpered in pain.
He stumbled and fell to his knees, inches from Sabine's feet.
Their eyes locked and she froze in terror. Her mouth tried to form
words that just would not come.
He shook his head briefly as if to warn her away. She hid Topaz
behind her skirts as she choked off her own protests, sobs.
The guards violently jerked Edward Plantagent, the young Earl of
Warwick, back to his feet and shoved him forward. Their swords
clinked against their belt buckles, their keys swung from metal
rings. They yanked their prisoner toward the stairs, oblivious to
the woman's wide-eyed horror. Watching him suffering like this
tore at her heart, rendering her speechless with grief.
But her daughter was not so silent. "Papa!" she shrieked, and
bolted after the bruised, bleeding young man.
"No, Topaz!" Sabine clutched her daughter's arm. "Stay back!"
"Where are they taking Papa?" Her cries echoed off the stone
walls. The torches in their sconces pulsated in unison with her
demand.
"I know not, little one. I know not."
But Sabine did know. This was the day she had dreaded most. Her
beloved Edward, imprisoned in this foul, stinking prison by the
cruel King Henry, was going to die.
Her mind spun her back through the years: their passionate
courtship, their blessed marriage, God's gift of their two
precious children and their joy at the expectation of the
impending third arrival.
As the dark maw of the stairwell finally swallowed her husband,
Sabine grasped her rounded belly and slid to the floor, overcome
by her heart-rending sobs.
Seeing her mother like that, Topaz began to weep too. Something
was horribly wrong. She couldn't fully understand what. All she
knew was that her mother's sobs and the look on her father's face
as he had been led away would haunt her for the rest of her days.
Buy Now:
The
Jewels of Warwick
Or The Yorkist Saga Books 3 and 4, 2 in one set