𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐶𝑉𝐼

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
~Richard, My Love, My Life~
He had fallen. 
Nobly, they said.
But he had fallen all the same.
King Richard the third of England had died in battle and now his son was to be proclaimed George the first by parliament. 
But all was not as it seemed. Ever since the Duke of Bedford had stumbled through Westminster with the devastating news on his lips, more and more accounts had trickled through the country to the capital; none of them good. 
King Richard had been betrayed by one he trusted. Betrayed and murdered beneath his own standard. 
By Thomas Stanley. 
At first he had not brought he nor his brother's armies to the King's side and when Richard had Questioned Stanley's son the young man grovelling at his feet had not been able to answer for his Father! 
The Percys of Northumberland (distant cousins of Rob) had turned up to Bosworth Battlefield but had sat on the sidelines, simply watching as King Richard and Henry Tudor readied their armies, white boars and red dragons flying high under the scorching August sun that had been sent down upon England that day. 
Stanley and his brother soon joined him, watching, waiting, plotting, biding their time and weighing the odds against one another. It was said that Richard had threatened to execute Stanley's son in a fit of rage but this had not swayed the traitor and he had remained at the side. 
When battle finally began it was bloody, as usual, two armies clashing with blades in hand, horses at the ready. A thunderous mounted charge by the King had begun it and smashed through the first of Tudor's ranks with Richard leading them. 
He had worn his crown as he rode into the fray with his head held high and his truest knights behind him but while it was a brave act it simply made all who mourned him sob harder.
Some called it courageous, some called it fool hardy, everyone wished he hadn't for while it rallied his soldier's spirits and gave them a leader it gave his enemies a target. And he was a target for Stanley. 
The King and his men fought well, hacking and driving through the invading forces as easily as if they were slicing through butter. Victory was said to be near when Richard cut down Tudor's standard bearer, the red rose and dragon being trampled underfoot as the enemy gave yet more ground. 
They stumbled back inch by inch, Henry Tudor cowering behind his mongrel army, the men of which had been fished hither and thither from any prison he could lay his hand too!