Was I supposed to feel guilty and responsible for my heinous son? “I had an Edward, till a Richard killed him; I had a husband, till a Richard killed him. Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard killed him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him,” said Margaret, that poor old Lancastrian ex-queen. It was not my place to argue with her, but she did not know that I felt sympathy for her, and her sentences echo endlessly in my mind. Perhaps I was the culprit who gave birth to this “foul bunch-backed toad” as Elizabeth would call him, but I had no intention to have him born with such fangs. Day and night I observe Richard’s actions, and I accuse him of the murder of poor Clarence, the princes, Hastings, or anyone else who got in his way.
Well, a powerful duchess like me would always have her sources. The murderers come to plead for forgiveness which they shall never receive. Let aside my secret messengers, only a mother, if I would still call myself his, would know by intuition when a son commits his evils. For all those innocent lives he took away I shall never forgive him, never! Night has grown dark and bold; I shall rest and worry tomorrow.
Dear diary,
The dawn is breaking, and a light shines through almost as if hope is about to arrive. I await the denouement of the war, as I strongly yearn for Richmond’s triumph. The hours pass and I can feel myself merging closer and closer towards the scent of hope and light for the royal household once more. Whilst we women of the court have no power over these pitiful greedy men, I strongly mourn for Lady Anne, for she is so ignorant to have married Richard. That child learned no lesson from the murder of her own ex-husband Prince Edward, nor father-in-law King Henry VI. She clumsily fell for my son’s nasty tricks and mind games, and for her ignorance I can not share any compassion.
I can smell the victory of Richmond approaching, just like Richard refusing to argue with us women, and instead attempting to drive us away with trumpets and drums. This strongly suggested his weakening, and the weaker he became the stronger we grew. I often ponder about our conversation before his battle. “If I be so disgracious in your eye, let me march on and not offend you, madam. Strike up the drum!” Hollered my son with great volume, yet this strongly conveyed his intention of backing down. This surprises me in a way, not once in my life have I seen Richard so weak and vulnerable, but this time I really hope he finally gets what he has always deserved, is to be stabbed hard on the battlefield where he shall lay dead and insulted for eternity.
Dear diary,
The battle had come and gone, just the way I had expected it to be. Richard has fallen on the battlefield beneath Richmond’s feet, thus my son is no longer. He left me with such desperate choices that either he’d die before the war had a chance to make him triumphant, “Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish and never more behold thy face again.” But alas “by God’s just ordinance” he died shamefully and bloodily on the field. I have stayed faithful to my last words to him, which were “Bloody will be thy end! Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend”, and God finally took my side. This was my last aspiration of any sort towards my remaining lifespan, for my transient future only looks forward to Richmond bringing hope to the people. Otherwise, my husband, my sons, (including one of which whom became my enemy), are all dead, and my throne has long been taken, therefore I feel there isn’t much left to live for, but only in the hope that the country may rise once more.
