Then the unknown men eventually emerged from the fire and mounted their horses…
‘Job’s done! Let’s get out of here before the fire becomes visible in the city!’
And they were gone.
With trembling knees and heart-pounding vigorously against my chest, I ran at the house. The flames had now travelled to the upper floor, and I could not face the fact that everyone might have already been burned to death. I had to try though, I had to be brave and attempt to save them. I kicked the blazing front door open and entered the inferno.
It was impossible to see clearly through the smoke. I capped my hands on my nose and mouth to prevent immediate suffocation, and stutteringly I turned right where the dining chamber used to be and where now was full of burned wood, smoke, and bodies…
‘Mother? Father? Jane? Margot?’ I shouted to the members of my family, I did not give a damn about the Welthemores. The visibility was so limited that I could not count or distinguish the bodies that lay there, surely dead. Panic started to grow on me. Everyone had perished, each one of them, and I had done nothing to prevent it, maybe it would have been better to stay there with them, let the fire consume me too.
Then I heard a feeble voice through the cracking noise of the fire, calling my name. ‘Edward! Edward!’ It was my mother, who I could now see was lying next to the destroyed fireplace. Quickly running towards her, I forgot to cup my hands in my mouth and nose, and immediately, I swallowed a pack of dust and smoke. Started coughing uncontrollably, I hoisted her over my shoulders and carried her as fast as I could towards the exit.
Once on the grounds, I placed her gently on the grass of our garden, far away from the house. ‘Stay there, mother! I’m going to get the others!’ I said in a rather strong voice. Now that I had found my mother alive, my hopes had grown for the rest. I thought I could save them all…
‘No, Edward!’ my mother said slowly but clearly. ‘Listen to me! They are all dead.’
‘No, no! There’s still time to save them. I’m going in!’ I replied angrily.
‘Edward, I saw them all being stabbed to death by those men,’ she said coughing, her breathing seemed agonising.
I approached and kneeled next to her. She was covered in blood, and when I examined her, I saw a big ripped part on her violet dress under her left breast, where unmistakably a sword or a spear had pierced her. I placed my hand on it, pressing down, trying to stop the bleeding. She flinched from the pain. ‘No, let it go! It’s almost over,’ she said, a note of acceptance in her voice.
‘NO!’ I shouted, my voice echoing through the night which was now lit by our blazing house.
‘Listen to me, Edward!’ she said grabbing my arm and dragging me closer to her, so I could hear her better. ‘We do not have much time. Those men-’
‘Who were they, mother?’ I interrupted. ‘Why did they come to kill us?’
‘Not us… You, my son! They came for you, and thanks to your stubbornness and pride you were lucky enough not to be in the dining chamber, and thus they missed you, I bet they thought you were one of the Welthemore boys,’ she said through greeted teeth. Her lips were trembling, and her eyes were red, irritated by the smoke, whilst tears started to fall down her dusty cheeks.
‘What do you mean they came for me, mother? Who are they?’ I asked perplexed. As far as I was concerned I did not have any enemies, in fact, I hardly knew anyone.
‘I’ve been trying to protect you since the day you were born, though I knew it in my heart that a day would come when you would not be safe. Your father gave us that house to keep you here hidden; to protect you,’ she carried on.
‘What do you mean my father gave us the house?’ I said curiously. ‘My father was living with us, you told me he inherited the house from his own family.’
‘Your father is not Thomas, m’ boy. You are not his son. Your sisters, Margot and Jane are… were your half-sisters…’
My worst fears had been confirmed. I reluctantly took a step back from the woman I thought I knew, seeing her clearly for the first time in my life. ‘Who am I?’ I asked eventually.
‘You are the son of King Henry…’
I gawped… ‘You were the king’s mistress? But that doesn’t make any sense, mother. I’m but a few years younger than the king himself,’ I argued, having heard that the king was in his thirties.
‘King Henry the Seventh, son, not the Eighth,’ she explained. ‘You are the current king’s half-brother, and that’s why they want to kill you, you are a potential threat to his legitimate heirs… The king has not produced a male heir yet, some say he cannot, so you might be in line for succession for some people…’
‘In succession for…’
‘The throne of England, Edward, yes. But don’t let yourself be deluded,’ she said and coughed horribly, blood mixed with saliva coming out of her mouth. ‘You saw what happened. These people, royals I mean, are merciless. For them, you are just an obstacle, a bastard. They would never recognise you as their king.’
‘But King Henry has already got a child, a daughter not a son, but still an heir, Princess Mary,’ I pointed out.
‘Most people would rather see a man than a woman sitting on the throne, Edward. But you must not trust anyone, Edward. You must flee, flee the country, go to France or Italy. Disguise yourself and don’t come back to England, for you… you will always be unwelcomed,’ she was crying now with sobs, making it even more difficult for her to breathe. ‘I am sorry, son… I am s-sorry f-for everything. I was m-merely trying to protect you.’
I was lost for words, I did not know how to respond. How could all this be true?
She grabbed my arm again and whispered, ‘I love you, son,’ and she was gone forever, leaving me alone in the shadow of our half-destroyed family house.
CHAPTER II
Exile
City of Rome
April 1527
‘You must not trust anyone, Edward… Anyone,’ a woman’s voice echoed…
‘It is my fault… my fault… I didn’t try hard enough to save you,’
‘People would like to kill you because of your heritage… You must not trust anyone…’ the woman’s voice warned.
‘I will have my revenge, mother! I promise! I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll-’
‘ARGH!’
‘I told ye, we don’t want any drunks ‘ere. Sod off!’ a man growled after he had emptied a bucket of cold water on my face.
I blinked, dazzled by the sudden light of the sun that was hitting my eyes, and made to protect it with a raised hand. I looked around, I was lying on the ground outside of an alehouse, an old rusty sign read: The Mad Bishop. I waved at the man on the door, indicating that I was planning to leave. I tried to stand but failed spectacularly. Instead, I fell on my back, arms and legs hovering in the air above me, like a dog. On my second attempt, I landed on my knees, which were surprisingly hurtful. On the third attempt, I managed to hoist myself up, but I did it so abruptly that my head span with dizziness. Putting my hand against the wall of the alehouse to steady myself, I rubbed my forehead.
‘What’s the day?’ I asked the man without looking at his direction.
‘If ye can’t remember the day, then ye should stop drinkin’,’ he said looking disgusted.
‘All right, all right, I’m leaving,’ I said, my head pounding. ‘You bugger,’ I mumbled, but not loud enough for him to hear me.
I stuttered across the street, trying hard to remember how I had ended up in this state in the first place. My mother’s voice still echoing inside my head; the dream had been so real…
*
Three years had passed since the tragedy that had befallen my family, three years since I had found out the truth about who I really was, and yet the knowledge itself could do nothing to console me, for there seemed to be an endless void inside me, right across my heart. Truth be told, I had always felt an outsider within my family, which I now knew why; nevertheless, I had never experienced such loneliness
in my entire life before…
Right after the massacre in my house and witnessing the death of my mother and the destruction of my whole world, I fled. I took my mother’s advice and left England as fast as the circumstances allowed. If I was to be safe, I needed to go as far as possible, and so I chose Rome, the City of God as many people claim, and the city where the Pope resides. However, it proved even trickier than I thought it would be because I had no one to go to, no one I could trust. I wanted of course to know more about my past; I needed to discover more about my heritage. How it came to be that my father was none other than the former King of England, Henry VII, father of the current King and my half-brother.
If I was to take my mother’s words, King Henry VII had wanted to protect us and thus had given us that beautiful secluded house on the outskirts of York, not to mention all the wealth. Why would he do that, though? Why risk so much for a lover and a bastard son? Whatever the answers to those questions, one thing was certain, England was not safe for me anymore. My father, the former king, might have taken many actions to protect my mother and me and hide our identity, but his heir who now sat on the throne was not a friend of mine. Somehow, he had discovered my existence and had decided I was too dangerous to be allowed to live, I was a threat to his true heirs.
My mother’s final words had shaken me to the core, but in any case, I would have never wanted to be King of England, even if I knew my true identity from the beginning. However, revenge is a great incentive to a man’s life, and that was precisely what had kept me alive for the past three years. I was waiting, biding my time for the perfect opportunity to strike back, to avenge my mother and my sisters and Thomas who had raised me as his own son. That time would be presented to me in the most unusual and unexpected way…
I arrived in the City of Rome after almost a whole year following the death of my family. My only plan was to head south, so I had gathered the few possessions I could salvage from my half-burned house, mounted a horse and started my lonely journey, with a little coin in my pocket and very little hope in my heart. I knew I could not hope to reach London alive, as the road was long and treacherous. However, London did not accommodate the only port in England; the Town of Hull, which was just a couple of days ride from York, had a trading port too. It was there I bought my way through to Calais, a small English town in Northern France which is still under the dominion of England, and thus I crossed the English Channel, leaving behind my woes of the past, but walking unwittingly towards hazardous territories…
Once I disembarked at the port of Calais, I rode my horse again and headed south, crossed the border and entered the Kingdom of France. I travelled into the wild countryside, mostly preferred to ride at dusk or at night for fear not to be discovered; although, I doubted anyone would recognise me. I slept and ate in isolated village inns, sometimes even stole my food from unsuspected farmers, and once I went as far as to steal a sword from a blacksmith shop, as mine had been lost in the fire. I washed in rivers and pissed and shitted in bushes. It took me months to cross the whole of France, but my journey was, surprisingly, entirely undisturbed.
However, I could not say the same for the Holy Roman Empire which seemed to be a more hostile place than France. Several times, I encountered bandits in the open country, but always managed to evade them, riding fast, putting many miles between them and me. There came one time, though, when things got out of hand, and some bandits caught me whilst sleeping in the woods. It was the first time I tried my new stolen sword; in fact, it was the very first time I killed a man. I did not mean to, I only wanted to defend myself against the thieves and flee; but when they threatened to cut me open unless I gave them all my belongings, including the horse, I drew my sword and without thinking I drove it right through the nearest man. There was a savage pleasure in striking the bastard. He was not wearing any armour, and thus my blade penetrated his flesh easily. I felt it ripping through flesh and bone, and when I drew it back, thick blood spluttered on my face and clothes. The other two looked at me horror-struck and ran for their lives, for they were but a couple of petty thieves without any knowledge in the art of sword-fighting, while I had spent half of my life training. In the end, I stripped the murdered thief and took what he had, including a small dagger and a purse half-full of silver coins, no doubt stolen.
After that incident, I did not meet any other outlaws, and I eventually reached the walls of Rome, the Eternal City; once the capital of the Roman Empire, the greatest empire this world has ever known, and now a centre of art and innovation. I remember the first time walking through the sunlit streets of the city. There were fountains and sculptures and magnificent buildings designed by the most celebrated artists of our age, who had all left their mark to this extraordinary city: Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo Buonarroti, Raphael, Donatello, Botticelli. The city was flourishing for many years, and many claimed it had reached its peak. Unfortunately, though, when something reaches its peak, the only way to go is down, and so would Rome…
I found myself a cosy and quiet inn and spent the first few days there, talking with the innkeeper and various visitors, trying to learn more about the city and its ways of life. Thankfully, I managed some Italian due to my knowledge of Latin. I also needed a job if I was to survive, and since I knew nothing else but prayers and swords, I chose the latter, and I started working as an apprentice to a local blacksmith shop, earning my coin with sweat and hard labour. I had decided to discard the rusty sword I had stolen and made my own. Thus, I forged a longsword made of steel, with an iron grip, big enough for two-handed use, which I later covered with black leather; whilst I also made a crossguard on its hilt and capped it with a leather rain-guard. Lastly, the pommel was the shape of a bottle stopper. It was a simple design but fit for a knight, nonetheless.
I spent my morrows sweating from the heat of the fiery weapons and armours I was forging, whilst my nights were once more a sweating business, spending my hard-earned coin in the brothels of the city and being drunk more often than I could remember. I also adopted the derivative of my name; the short version that only my dear sister Jane used to call me by, Ed.
At last, I was free… Free from any restrictions my parents had placed upon my lifestyle since the day I was born. However, I was never entirely satisfied, for my conscience was ever filled with guilt. My dreams were becoming more real and more intense with each passing day… My mother, urging me to be careful… My adopted father encouraging me to avenge them… Margot telling me that it had all been my fault… And last but not least, my dear sweet Jane, whom I loved and cared for the most, weeping over my mother’s dead body and always asking me one question: ‘Why, Ed?’ I knew why, but she had not; her life had been stolen from her in a young, gentle age. All this to secure the future of a Goddamned kingdom.
A few months later, I was beginning to feel hopeless, I could not spend my life there, working as a blacksmith and wasting my money on drinking and whoring; after all, I was an educated man. Thus, I joined forces with a group of bandits. In contrast to the ones I had encountered on my journey from England, our band did not consist of petty thieves, but rather of muscular, heavy- armed men who were well trained in the arts of war. Most of them had once served a lord and for whatever reasons had been dismissed or left. We counted eight in total, four were Romans by birth, one Florentine; there was also one Welsh and two English: the leader of the band, named Belfrigh, and me. Belfrigh never asked too many questions, and he was ready to believe my fake story of me being a former soldier who had come to Rome to seek new profitable opportunities.
Belfrigh determined where we were to strike next. We were accomplished outlawed-warriors, and our primary job was raiding.
My newly-forged longsword did not disappoint me, and it was then I decided to name it Defier, a name fitting its purpose, something that reflected my own defiance to the law and its, often unfair, regulations.
We raided farms, wealthy estates, and carriages that travelled in the countryside unprotected.
At the end of each raid, we would divide the plunder by eight and be on our way until our next mission, until Belfrigh would give us the motion to regroup and strike the next target. He would always find the targets, although no one knew where he was getting all the information from. We had no complaints, of course; he had made us rich.
Belfrigh was the one who had discovered me in my blacksmith shop one day. Seeing the strength of my arms and hands working the hammer against a forging sword. He had invited me for an ale that evening and had made his propositions which I had reluctantly accepted, though any guilt on being a thief vanished from my heart after a few successful raids which earned me more money than I would ever imagine earning working as an apprentice blacksmith. So, I left my perfectly lawful job and embraced the life of an outlaw…
Another couple of years passed, during which I stole and killed numerous times, and I now regret. I was a young fool. However, I had not forgotten, I was waiting for my opportunity for revenge… I could not have foreseen it, but now looking back at the events of the years of my exile, I understand that my fate was orchestrated by a divine force, for it cannot be explained otherwise…
*
Now as I was walking through the streets of Rome and after being forced to stop at least half a dozen times to vomit, it all started to come back to me. It was the news I had received from England that had distressed me the previous night, but ultimately it was something far more important than King Henry that had resulted in my current state, it was my fears and troubled conscience.
News of King Henry’s deeds had reached my ears, through a traveller, who was more than happy to share information with me for a few coins. In fact, this man, who was an English overseas merchant called Walter, had been my informer for over a year, for I wanted to be aware and vigilant with the comings and goings of our dear King Henry…
The Illegitimate Tudor Page 3