Queen & Prince Together Forever #5

'Twas a time of kings, Kind Edward IV, Richard III, Henry VII, and the self-professed King William.

Happy that Henry was finally home with her, Emma looked forward to having a good night's sleep. It's been a long time since she's slept through the night without waking up screaming. She hoped that she wouldn't have the disturbing dreams, horrible nightmares, and sexual fantasies that she's been having. She hoped that all of those terrible dreams were behind her now.

That night with Henry soundly sleeping in his room, even though she hoped she wouldn't, Emma had her usual dream of time travel. If only she could remember her dreams as clearly as she had then when she was having them, perhaps she could unravel why she was having these fantastic visions of time travel and of past lives. Traveling back more than 500 years, as his Queen Emma, Emma dreamt of her King William and her royal Prince Henry.

* * * * *

The year was 1485 when King William heard the news that King Henry VII, the founder of the Royal House of Tudors in 1457, defeated King Richard III in the battle of Bosworth to become the new King of England.

"Long live the King," chanted those loyal to the new king and the house of Lancaster while those loyal to King Richard and the house of York, fearing for their lives, left their homes and looking for safe passageway, fled for their lives to go into hiding.

To loosely quote Charles Dickens of the troubled times at hand, "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the age of wisdom. It was the age of foolishness. It was the epoch of belief. It was the epoch of incredulity. It was the season of light. It was the season of darkness. It was the spring of hope. It was the winter of despair. We had everything before us. We had nothing before us. We were all going directly to Heaven. We were all going directly to Hell."

Indeed, as they seemingly were everywhere in the word during the 15th century, these were troubling times in England. More than the superstitious and mostly illiterate population could handle, most still believed in ghosts, goblins, witches, warlocks, wizards, sorcerers, dragons, monsters, and werewolves. Without mass communication to enlighten their world, there was no TV, no radio, no internet, no telephone, cell phone, newspapers, and magazines. Even those few citizens who could read, didn't know what was happening in their own neighborhood never mind what was happening in the rest of the world at any given time. But for word of mouth and writing messages, with nearly all forms of communication not yet invented, literally and figuratively, not just England, but throughout the whole world, everyone was living in the dark.

The country and much of Europe in general were still recovering from the huge population loss from the Bubonic Plague. Deemed the Black Death that killed millions throughout Europe in the 14th century, there were some who blamed the plaque on those for not believing in one God just as there were those who blamed those for believing in and summoning the Devil. Only with no running water in most households, it was a time of people not bathing regularly. Without refrigeration and with foods not properly cleaned and rotting it was a time for roaches and rats. Was it any wonder why so many people died from such a horrible disease?

* * * * *

It was a time that the War of the Roses, raging for nearly 30 years between two rival royal houses of Plantagenet, the houses of Lancaster and York, finally came to an end. The final victory going to Lancastrian Henry Tudor after defeating the last house of York king, Richard III, at the Battle of Bosworth Field. Lancastrian Henry VII of the house of Tudor reunited and reconciled the two houses, the house of Lancaster and the house of York, by marrying Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV.

If the royal houses were all in an upheaval, one can only imagine what was happening with the rest of the country with citizens pulled one way in favor of Richard III only to be pulled the other way in favor of Henry VII. No one really knew what was happening at any given time and in any given place. With some residents giving their allegiance to the old king in disfavor of the soon to be new king, it was citizen pitted against citizen with lots of fighting and death behind the scenes. Until calm and order was restored, with one loyalist pitted against the other, there was chaos in the taverns that spilled out to streets after men had their fill of mead and wine. Being that news wasn't instant but delayed for weeks and months even, few citizens knew what was happening with their old king or with their new king. A topic of discussion at any tavern, with it all left to speculation, it was anyone's illiterate guess what was really happening.

Yet, this story isn't a history lesson but more of a behind the scenes look at what was happening in one man's castle, self-proclaimed king of his land and his little kingdom, King William. This story is about what was happening in Emma's head as she slept. Had she lived through this before? Was she indeed reincarnated as she truly believed she was? Were her and her son once lovers? The only way she could discover the truth is through her dreams of fantasy to finally know if everything she dreamt was fiction or her reality. If only she knew that what she was dreaming wasn't a dream at all but her reality.

* * * * *

Nearly out of money and supplies, unable to feed his small army of knights, officers, and warriors through another long, cold winter, William had to do something. The self-proclaimed King of his castle, of his small kingdom, and of his lands as far as the eye could see in all directions, he was no ordinary man. Had he been born a Plantagenet and to royalty, whether to the house of Lancaster or to the house of York, he had no preference which, he would have made a good king. With his keen insight, his strong sense of right and wrong, and his Solomon like judgment of fairness, he would have made for a better king that Richard III was and that Henry VII would be. Yet because he was born a commoner, albeit a once wealthy self-made man, the reality of his financial circumstances were now desperately grim.

In the way that kings always had money at their disposal by raising taxes, unable to raise capital by raising taxes, his people couldn't even afford to pay him the complimentary tax that he asked them to pay now. In the way that kings make an allegiance with another royal house or country by marrying off their daughters, he didn't have a daughter to marry to another kingdom. Even if he did have a daughter, he didn't have a royal house. He was nothing more than a commoner with money.

Not even married, he didn't have any children, other than the bastards that he begat from those whores who shared his bed for the night. In a quandary, he didn't have a lot of options. Yet, seemingly paying for his king's wars, wars that, as a commoner, he didn't have any stake at winning anything and that only profited his king and his royal house, the tax collector was always at his door demanding more and more of his money. When they weren't taking his money, they were commandeering his horses and recruiting his men to fight their battles, battles that he didn't care who won or lose. With their fights little interest to him, other than having to pay more taxes, it didn't matter to him which king won over the other.

As much as he was a brave and courageous man, living high on the hog before, he was now a poor man with the king's men shaking him down to pay even more of their personal, private, for profit wars. Once loyal to King Edward IV, William was the type of man who'd rather fend for himself than to give allegiance to any king or bow down to anyone, but for God or Satan. If he had his druthers, he'd rather be left alone. Yet, after giving his money away to this king and to that king, for him to make ends meet, having no choice but to disturb his peace with war, he undertook his own wars by attacking his neighbors.

After years of waging conquering wars with Englishmen he didn't even know and who he had no argument against, as much as conquering those around him enriched him, the expense of conquering those around him depleted his reserves. Yet, no longer fearing the executioner's axe and having his property seized and taken from him, at least he was now able to pay his fair share of taxes. Only, as his king had done to him, with him enlisting their husbands and sons to fight his personal, private wars within the outskirts of his little kingdom, his people were unable to pay the small amount of taxes due him for the protection of living behind his castle walls. As quickly as he replenished his coffers, his supply of money vanished. Soon, he was as poor as were his people.

In turn with him struggling to stay solvent, he was unable to pay the taxes due England and to his new king. In an unending cycle, waging war for money and spending money to wage war, done with fighting and with death, he just wanted to live out the remainder of his life peaceful with his wife and son. Only, after a deal that King William made with the Devil, now that the houses of Lancaster and York had sorted out all that was wrong between them, Satan would soon come calling to collect what was promised and what was now rightly due him. God help him because no one else could. God help him because no one else would.

* * * * *

With every day all about the king, to make matters worse, his people were dying of a highly contagious disease, the sweating sickness, known as the English Sweats. Starting in England during the times of the Tudors from 1485 to 1551, the deadly virus quickly spread throughout Europe. A virulent disease attributed to poor hygiene and lack of refrigeration of foods, the disease was found more prevalent in the higher classes. With not even time enough to send for a doctor and no known cure anyway, they were dying within hours of contracting the mysterious illness.

Those once able bodied men died and those who didn't succumb to the fatal disease, were tired, unenergetic and listless. They couldn't work. They couldn't fight. They couldn't support themselves. Those mothers who fell ill and died, left their children behind to fend for themselves. William, their self-professed king and the somewhat sensitive man that he was, felt responsible for their health, welfare, and wellbeing. Everywhere he looked, there were dirty orphans turned beggars in the road falling victim to the hoofs of the horses of his men or to the wheels of passing wagons. His people were dying and there was nothing that he could do about that grim reality. Different from the plague, for some unknown reason, the sweating sickness didn't harm infants or children, only otherwise healthy men and women. If only there was a vaccine but vaccines weren't yet invented.

In his feeble attempt to save his subjects and spare his kingdom, he prayed to his Gods. Although most Christians only believed in the one God, with peasants and commoners superstitious to a fault in being forced to deny the existence of more than one God, there were still those uniformed, unenlightened, uneducated, and illiterate people who believed in the Greek Gods of mythology. Although they discounted the lesser Gods many people of the 15th century still believed in many of the major Gods. No one wanted to be stricken down by an angry God for no longer believing in him and for not praying to him. Taking no chances, better safe than to be sorry, especially when on their deathbed and depending on their circumstances, they prayed to all Gods equally.

Some women still prayed to Aphrodite, the God of beauty. Many young men put their faith in the God Apollo, the God of music, arts, knowledge, healing, plague, prophesy, poetry, beauty, and archery. Those older men who were always drunk believed in the God Dionysus, the God of parties, festivals, madness, chaos, drunkenness, drugs, and ecstasy. All men fearing the end of their lives, taking precautions that they'd be delivered from Evil, still prayed to Hades, the God of the underworld, of the dead, and of regret. Some women still prayed to Hera, Zeus' wife and queen of the Gods. Hera was the Goddess of marriage, women, childbirth, heirs, kings, and empires. Besides, with most people during that time unable to read the Bible, what would it hurt to pray to more than one God, just in case there was more than one God? Those who believed in other Gods, all believed in Zeus, the brother of Poseidon and Hades, he was the supreme ruler of all Gods.

Praying night and day and praying endlessly for months, William's prayers to the Gods went unanswered. Seemingly listening more to the prayers of the royals than to him, by the evidence that his life hadn't changed for the better, obviously no one was listening to him. Apparently, with so much happening between the houses of Lancaster and York, the Gods had abandoned him in his hour of need in support of them. Listening more to the prayers of John Morton, the Arch Bishop of Canterbury, later to be named Cardinal, King William's prayers seemingly went unanswered. With him left to his own devices, there was nothing else for him to do. Fearing that he'd lose his castle, his lands, and his kingdom, taking matters in his own hands, he had no other recourse of action than to pray to the Devil.

If his Gods couldn't help him keep his castle, save his land, and assure the continued survival of his little kingdom by maintaining his army, and feed his subjects, perhaps the Devil would and could do that for him. With him taking one for the team, so to speak, perhaps by praying to the Prince of Darkness, his men, his subjects, and those citizens of the commonwealth who sought shelter and enjoyed their livelihoods behind his castle walls, could make it through another long, cold winter. Better that he should align himself with the Devil than to be forsaken by his Gods, the king fell to his knees in prayer. With his prayers to God seemingly gone unanswered, it was better that he'd have the protection of Satan than to expect any protection from his new king who'd only want his money and his loyalty. Better that he'd have the protection from Satan than from his God who no longer answered his prayers.

* * * * *

"Satan! Satan! Satan! Prince of Darkness and ruler of Hell, protect me from my enemies. Help me in my hour of darkness to conquer them. I need food. I need horses. I need more men. I need to be resupplied and unable to buy ships, the only way for me to do get what I need is to take what I need. The only way for me to take what I need is to wage wars with those castles nearby instead of with those foreign lands far away. Keep my sword arm strong and my men's arrows true. Satan! Satan! Satan! Help me for I swear my allegiance to you now and forever."

Obviously King William needed to do something drastic and something that not only may cost him his kingdom but also his life, as well as his soul and the lives of his wife and son. Especially now that there was a new King of England, no doubt, only just a matter of time, this new king would demand a higher tax from him to pay. A tax that if he couldn't afford to pay now, he certainly wouldn't be able to afford more taxes to pay later.

In addition to gathering gold, he needed food and supplies to resupply him and his men. He needed to conquer a castle to get his people through another long, cold winter. He needed to win a war, a small, quick war being that his resources were limited and his army was small. Lucky they somehow survived last winter, but if he put them through another long, cold, hungry winter like the last one, his own people would plot to overthrow him and claim his castle as their own.

All within a three days march of going in one direction or in the other, surrounded by four castles, one to the north, one to the south, one to the east, and one to the west, with him smack in the middle, he knew it was only a matter of time before they'd dispatch their own armies to conquer him. For all he knew they could be plotting to conquer him now in the way that he was plotting against them to attack them. They all could band together and overwhelm with one huge force. Vulnerable to their attacks, if he didn't do something now, it would only be a matter of time before they raped his wife, tortured his son, and murdered them.

With him imagining them taking advantage of his inaction in his inability to attack them, he convinced himself that the worst thing he could do was nothing at all. If nothing else, he needed to save his family and his people, the innocent ones. As if embroiled in his own personal game of thrones, he needed to save his wife and his son from horrible torture, certain death, and/or worse. He needed to save his wife and son, from the hands of some warlord who'd conquer his castle and who's in a similar impoverished plight. Not wasting another minute in pondering what to do, he assembled his generals and devised his plan of attack. While the weather was still favorable and before the frigid cold and the deep snow of winter covered the landscape, it was now or never.

Already at a disadvantage, he was vulnerable to an attack. He didn't have the natural barrier of the mountains surrounding him, as did the castle to his north. He didn't have the protection that the sea afforded him, as did the castle to his east. His castle wasn't perched high up on a hill, as was the castle to the south. Protected by witches, warlocks, wizards, sorcerers, and dragons, his castle wasn't hidden deep within an enchanted forest, as was the castle to the west. He had nothing but his courage, his bravery, and his keen wit to keep his kingdom safe from harm.

"Satan! Satan! Satan, save me, save my family, and save my kingdom," he prayed to the black angel of death and the demon of eternal damnation from Hell every morning when he awakened and every night before retiring to bed. "Satan! Satan! Satan help me." Had he known the deal that he was making with the Devil and the payback he'd have to make, he may not have requested Satan's help. "Satan! Satan! Satan, help me, please, I beseech thee to help me!"

* * * * *

Defenseless from an attack from either side or from all sides at once with his castle exposed in the middle of a valley, he was outnumbered and out in the open. His kingdom resided in a sweet spot for farming but not in a strategic spot for war. The only advantage he had was that his spotters would see someone coming from miles away but, to his disadvantage, they could see him too and wait for the darkness of night when everyone was sleeping to launch their preemptive strike and brutal attack. All he had to protect and to keep him and his people safe from his attackers, from the barbarians, and from those men who had no morals or scruples and would murder anything and anyone in their way, man, woman, animal, and/or child were four, high walls.

With him so exposed and already being in a defensive posture for too long, it was too costly for him to remain in a weakened position. What choice did he have other than to go on the offense? With him needing to be the aggressor, striking first in a preemptive war, spilling first blood by launching an attack was the only defense he had. The only available option he had to save his people, it was either saving his people by killing the people of another castle or wait until they attacked and killed them. Attacking first before being attack, as long as his attack was successful, not only would he have the money to pay the King of England his taxes but also, he'd also guarantee himself of having enough food and supplies to survive another long, cold winter. He had no choice other than to attack his neighbors, albeit his very distant neighbors, to the north, to the south, to the east, and to the west.