The Other Elizabeth *OLD VERSION*

LIII. Summer 1463

LIII
Summer 1463
Grafton, Northamptonshire, England

-Truce accepted by all three rulers.-
-Bona of Savoy offered as bride, Warwick eager, His Grace has not accepted this proposal, however.
-Siege on Norham Castle.-
-The French Queen was attacked by robbers!-  I sigh, throwing down this latest letter with the most ridiculous of news. Messages comes to me nigh on every day, with these snippets of information, from my associates, concerning the happenings of the kingdom, mostly from John Howard, my good kinsman, and the Pastons, who I have dined with frequently in the recent weeks, and who make it their business to know everything. But I am wearied of it all, and I find I have no care for such news, especially not Marguerite of Anjou being lain upon by robbers. Mayhap they shall rid us of her for good. I do not care for news, until I see the messenger that I desire. For I have waited over two weeks now. Surely, Katherine would have responded by now, if she were so eager? Despite all that happened betwixt Anthony and me, I did indeed still send her my letter.

"Give her time to think upon the matter," Anne says, but no person can understand my restlessness, as I wo3nder every day. Of course, I may have sent the messenger on a wild goose chase to the numerous possible residences where Katherine might be. Was sending my message the correct thing to do? Katherine should mean nothing to me, she is but my father's bastard daughter, yet I feel so alone again, now that Anthony's secret is revealed. 'Twas only he, Bess, Jacquetta and Richard that knew, and at least Anne, my greatest confident, was not cuckolding me all this time. Anthony was. All this time. I understand some of his reasons for disclosing the information. What would have occurred if he had told me three years ago- for I am damnably sure I would have rescinded his betrothal, and run off with the Duke of York, for Edward was right, Anthony is a knave! Three years ago, I had just come to terms with the loss of both father and mother, and I wanted some stability, for him to create a home for me. Yet it seems that I was tricking myself into a fantasy, for all that time he had been gallivanting with Gwenllian.

I do not pretend to understand how the whims of the male species work- mayhap 'twas just a youthful mistake, he was young, and bored, and she was willing enough to lift her skirts. I suppose many youths take their pleasure. But it is not just that- he was writing promises to me, while courting her! He should not have been so two-faced. And he seems to have had no honourable intentions toward her at all- it makes me question the kind of man I have married. And I am more angered by the fact that she dared show her face at our wedding. I want to trust in Anthony, believe that she only came asking for more money for Margrete's upkeep, but how can I take anything he says now to be truth? Mayhap he was dallying with her before he came to our marriage bed at our very own wedding, when he disappeared for a short amount of time. I cannot bear to think of it.

But Anthony and I both know the real reason he did not tell me. We both know the true reason I am truly bereft- for at least he has not been unfaithful, to my knowledge, while we were married, so it was not quite so bad. We both know I cry to myself because this proves that he is potent, that some obscure Welsh knight's daughter- who he mayhap met whilst campaigning with the army in the year of Our Lord 1459, before he met me and rescued me!- can bear him a child. And I cannot. Anthony is virile, and I am not fertile. And he has known this, all this time. I can almost hear his laughter, ringing in my ears. This is what wrecks my chest with sobs. I cannot give him a child, and she could. It is so unfair, that a harlot should be blessed, and not myself- why would He punish me so? I desperately want a child of our own. Yet I must now be barren. Anthony must have known of my poor babe Isabel, of my two miscarriages, when he entered into our betrothal. Yet, despite this, he married me, a youth with a future ahead, he still sent me those rather flirtatious letters in the months leading up to our marriage. He married me, knowing that he might never get an heir. Did he mean anything he said? Does he truly love me, or was he willing to compromise a lack of an heir for my lands, and titles, my status as an heiress? Everything I know, I have to question.