The Ghost and the Rose

Chapter 21

I awoke from my death. There was no pain, no blood and no cuts upon my wrists or wound in my head. More importantly, I remembered.

John was gone from my side and Ralph's body was no longer keeled on the floor. I wore my gown of red and gold damask, just like I had been on that final day. I ran my hand down the smooth fabric expecting it to encounter hot blood seeping from my wound. But there was nothing.

John's words echoed in my mind. "When you have forgiven Henry... I shall come to you, one last time."

I left my room and sought out Henry, my gut told me to head for the solar. I pushed the door open to find Henry standing by the window with his back to the door. He appeared quite content to be gazing out at the wall of lingering mist, just like he had that first time. He still wore his armour, all except for his helmet, which lay at his feet just as bloody, muddy and dented as the moulded sheets of metal framed around his body.

The widening of his eyes told me that my sudden intrusion of this private moment had been unexpected. For the first time, I truly noticed the similarities between us, I must have been a fool not to recognise them earlier.

" 'Tis not possible," he whispered, turning towards me. "How can this be?"

"I think I broke the curse," I smiled.

The dark cloud looming over Henry dispersed and a huge sunlit grin spread across his face. "I believe you did. In truth, I had my doubts but then, you always did surprise me when I least expected it of you. We can make it right now and our five hundred years of purgatory will be nothing but a bad dream."

"Where or rather when are we? Is it...?"

Henry nodded. "Yes, it's April fourteenth, 1471, early morning. The battle has not long been over."

I shut the door behind me and made my way to the edge of the room where together, my brother and I looked out into the fading shade. Standing at over six foot, he towered over me. I seemed to be regaining a sense of the comfort he once provided for me, a comfort, which had once been lost.

"Was it truly awful?"

"Yes," Henry replied. "Whole lives diminished by the edge of a blade. They have lost everything." I saw the tears stinging his eyes. "Those who had battled in life to prove their differences, became in death, the same. As on one Hertfordshire battlefield, the blood of Yorkists and Lancastrians seeped into the English soil, together." He bowed his head. "So, tell me how did you break the curse? Did you need to spill your blood again?"

"I believe so but also the blood of another was needed."

Henry raised an eyebrow.

"My words created the curse and my blood sealed it, but I was not the one who spilled my blood. I did not take my own life."

His mouth hung open. "Who?"

"Sir Ralph Croft. He struck me on the back of the head with the statue of St George and then made it look like I had killed myself, which was easy considering I was contemplating it myself."

I saw him form fists with his hands hanging down his side.

"I'll kill him."

"It is done; I think he needed to die to break the curse as it was his actions that allowed it to be brought about."

"You did not take your own life," he repeated, quieter this time.

"No. I was murdered by my betrothed because he knew I was in love with John and would never marry him. He had sights set on your title and lands all along."