A Red Rose and The White

Acknowlegement

This story was inspired by Philippa Gregory's fine novel -- The White Queen. Apologies for my taking such scandalous liberties with the story line.

..................

My name is Elizabeth Woodville. I am a widow of less than 30 years old. My late husband, Sir John Grey, Baron Rivers was killed at the Battle of St Albans. My lands and house have been taken from me because of husband's alleged treachery. It is unfair; I am no traitor. My family were loyal to the House of Lancaster. My father, with whom I must now live, escaped with his life from Towton. The battle there left 20,000 dead on the field. My father was lucky to escape. They say it was the greatest loss of life in any battle on English soil.

I am standing at the crossroads waiting for a murderer. A brutal slayer of men. I know that the new King, Edward of the House of York must pass this way. I hate him, but I have two sons whose future I must secure. For them I must petition the king for the return of my estates. I must pledge fealty to this man, though I despise him. I am wearing my best dress and tallest hat. I know that the boy king (he is at least five years younger than I) cannot resist a pretty face and well turned ankle. I know I must win him over, even though I despise him for what he is, for what he has done. The rumours say he has ridden every eligible woman in his court. He is a handsome man. It is said that women of honour vie for his favours in his bed-chamber.

There is a flash of silver and a clatter of hooves. The king in his shining armour with his cohorts gallops to the crossroads. I courtesy low, with head bowed.

'Ah, and who do we have here? Arise look at me, allow me to see who you are, madam.'

I slowly rise and look the king in the eye. His blond hair and sparkling eyes make me catch my breath.

'I am Lady Rivers, Sire. I have come to put my case before you. When you hear how I have been ill used I am sure you will show mercy and redress my grievance.'

'The battle is won. The Houses of York and Lancaster will be as one. We are all Englishmen now. I will hear your petition good lady, but now I must go to my army. Tomorrow I will be hunting in this area. Pray ask your father to arrange to entertain me for supper tomorrow night.'

Thus it was that the king and his friend and companion, Earl Warwick comes to my father's house. The king reads my petition and hands it to Warwick.

'Earl Warwick will ensure that you are fairly treated Lady Rivers. You have my word. ' It is well known that Warwick is the king's advisor and a fellow whoremonger. The king's women are passed on to his friend to become his whores, when the king moves on the pastures new. I am determined not to follow down that well trodden path.

It comes time for the king to leave to rejoin his army. 'Lady Rivers, before I leave perhaps you would be gracious enough to show me your garden.'

My father, the perfect host steps forward to assist in this task but fortunately my mother, a shrewd woman, touches his arm to hold him back. My mother knows, as I do, that the fortune of the family could depend on this evening.

The king is good company. He laughs and jokes and put me at ease. I almost forget how I hate this usurper of the throne. I can well understand how so many ladies have fallen for his charms.

'Lady Rivers, I must go now. I am sure all will be well with your affairs. Before I go, to seal our friendship will you allow me a kiss?'

I offer my cheek, but Edward kisses me full on the lips. Of course I struggle, but the king is strong. He fights battles with shield and sword. I am a weak woman, no match for this brute. Eventually he breaks away. I am gasping for breath, my head in a whirl. I am on the grassy bank now. The king is on top of me. His knee is between my thighs, forcing my legs apart. I am struggling. I must not become another of the king's whores, to be discarded when he tires of my charms. It must not happen. His hand is on my belly, working down through the silky hair. His fingers are hunting for my cunny. If he manages to insinuate a finger I know I will be lost. Too much is at stake. I must not sacrifice my virtue -- it is all I have left. I feel his cock pressing against me. It is a majestic weapon, worthy of a great Prince. My resolve weakens for but a moment, then I continue my struggles anew.

In my efforts to free myself, my hand falls on the king's dagger in its sheath in his belt. I draw it and manage to place it between our faces. Seeing the blade, my liege lord leaps to his feet.

'You threaten your King with a Knife, my lady? This is treason. Your face is too pretty for your head to adorn the gates of York, for truly that is the reward for treachery.'

'No Sire, the knife if for me, for I would cut my own throat before allowing you to take my honour.

'You threaten, Madam, but you would not do it.'

'You misjudge me Sire. My honour is all I have left in this cruel world. I will not lose that too.

'Very well Elizabeth, you have my word that I will not take you, but you will be punished for your defiance.'

With that the King grabs me in his powerful arms and before I know where I am I find myself over his knee as he sits on the grassy bank. In a trice he has pulled my dress up and my petticoat to. The moonlight is playing on my bare bottom as he starts to slap me with his powerful sword hand. I am helpless in his grasp. I squirm and wriggle, but it is to no avail. His hand is smacking my bottom as if I am a small child. It stings so, but somehow to feel myself held in his powerful arms is so delicious. His hand is strong and hard. I try to remain stoical, trying to resist the urge to wriggle and squirm on his lap. Soon the stinging sensation overcomes me and my legs tremble and my bottom wriggles and writhes. I am conscious that my feminine charms are on open display in the moonlight. As my pain turns to passion, I feel a moistness in my quim. I no longer care about my modesty. If the king were to so demand it, I would get down on all fours, like a common strumpet in the whorehouse. He could mount me and ride me and I would not fight him, but the king kept his word and made no further attempt to have me.

Eventually he allows me to stand, my dress falling around my legs, covering my modesty. My bum is stinging and I feel a tingling between my legs. We walk back to my father's house. The king is satisfied that he is taught me a lesson. The king, who has never lost a battle, has won again. That may be true, but if he has won a battle I know that I have won the war. I know that my charms have inflamed the king's passion. I know he will return to enjoy my favours. I have won the war.

*

Historical Notes:

Elizabeth Woodville was eventually married to Edward IV, becoming his loyal and faithful queen.

There is some evidence that Elizabeth did threaten to use a knife on Edward.

There is no evidence that he spanked her, but then again, no evidence that he did not.

The battle of Towton was the bloodiest battle to be fought on English soil, with over 20,00 dead. Unfortunately it decided nothing as King Henry VI and his queen survived and became a rallying point for those opposed to Edward.