The Other Henry VIII

The Kingdom Falls

8th February 1525
Verity was not certain of the contents of the letter in her cousin's hands, but she could guess. Morale had been so low since Christmastide that the courtiers had grown accustomed to being miserable. The messages from France had ceased to arrive long ago. There was only one piece of news that could provoke such a look of horror on Leia's face.

"Your Majesty?" asked Rebecca. Her eyes met Verity's, shining with concern. "Your Maj-"
"My son," was the grave reply. "Lady Pole writes that my boy is sick."
"We must pray that he recovers soon," said Rebecca in a soothing tone.

Leia turned, her face twisting into a mask of contempt. "Pray? What use is praying? I must go to him."
"You cannot put yourself at risk." Verity regretted her words as soon as they left her tongue.
"What a foolish thing to say." She rose to her feet, the paper crumpling in her fist. "I shall depart in an hour. You may accompany me, if you wish."
It was only when Leia made to leave that her cousin leapt to her feet. "Your Majesty, you cannot leave the grounds."
The Queen frowned. She glanced between their two pallid faces; there was guilt written all over them. They had not the courage to meet her eyes. "Why?"

Rebecca cleared her throat and placed the shirt that she had been stitching to one side. "There is sickness. They told us not to tell you."
"Sickness? When did this begin? Who told you?"
"The guardsmen," joined in Verity, her voice laced with fear. She could feel her fists trembling by her sides. "We have not left the palace grounds in a fortnight. We don't know what it is. They say it's the Sweat."

For a few moments, Leia's expression betrayed nothing. Thoughts galloped through her mind like race horses. Why had no-one thought to inform her? With the Treasury in such a fragile state, how would she help the poor? No wonder there were even fewer servants than usual. But her boy— he needed her. Little Henry was only a few months old, and yet the weight of the entire kingdom rested on his tiny shoulders. If her husband was lying dead on a battlefield somewhere and her son perished from the Sweat, civil war would surely break out. Young William Westerly was a likely candidate to be the next King and if that happened, then the Starlings would own England once more. Leia would never allow that to happen, no matter the cost.

"We will empty the coins from the Treasury and distribute it to the people," she declared with strained resolve. "And we will go to Ludlow Castle. We will be safe there, from the Sweat. I would advise we leave before noon."

Neither of the ladies dared to challenge her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James could hardly keep himself from bursting into the chamber.
"Clara, you must come with me now. Bring Lizzie."

Brow furrowed, the Princess rose from her seat immediately. "Why?"
"The Sweat. It's spreading like fire."
"Where is my stepmother?"
"She and a small group of attendants left earlier today, for Wales. We must go, now!"
"Where can we go? Surely the best thing to do now is to lock ourselves away?" exclaimed Clara, panic infiltrating her veins like venom.

"If we hurry, we can make it out of London. My Aunt Jane recently returned to her house in Oxford. We must seek refuge there."
"Lizzie is in her lessons. Are you sure we will be safe in Oxford? Do you even know where the house is?"
"Vaguely. I have visited once. People are dropping dead in the streets, Clara. There is no-one left here to help us. If we do not leave now, it will reach us too. Please, trust me."
Their eyes locked in mutual understanding, silver against brown. "I do. Come, we must find Lizzie."

The journey reminded her of that dreadful night, nearly two years ago.
Three thin, sodden cloaks were draped over her shoulders and head, fending off the rain and sickness alike. A strip of linen covered her mouth and nose. Her fingers, numb as stone, were barely able to maintain a grip on the reins.