I MAKE KINGS - Of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, the Kingmaker

[Lueii]

My atttempt at a fifty thousand word novel by the months end.

I MAKE KINGS
Of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, The Kingmaker
By Jed Myers

Prologue
"Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace, Proud setter up and puller down of kings!" - Henry VI Part 3 Act III scn III

  I make kings.
  When one asks me who I am, I say I make kings.  And that is enough.
  But I am sure to include my good name for good measure.  I am Richard Neville, 16th Earl of Warwick and 6th of Salisbury.  I am the son of Richard Neville, 5th Earl of Salisbury, and Lady Alice Montacute. I am husband to Lady Anne Beaucamp, who is daughter of Richard de Beaucamp, 13th Earl of Warwick and Lady Isabel Despenser.
  I tell you this because if one does not know who I am he might think me proud.  Or arrogant.  For it is bold to state one makes kings.  It is even bolder if it is true.  And it is.
  For a man is a fickle thing.  In a moment he can love another with a love that cannot be broken, like a link of steel.  The next, he can hate that other with all the passion in a flame, that breaks links previously unbroken.  The secret is to not allow the latter happen to you first and be the first to do the latter.
  If I said, I make kings and was unjust in saying so, then anyone will make mockery of me.  If I state justly however that I make kings, the kings will unmake me.  But I state it justly in all ways.  It is my boast, though I am no braggart.
  Thrice a traitor, twice kingmaker, once a man.
  Now I am no man.  Slaves are men.  Peasants are men.  Soldiers are men.  Knights are men.  Earls are men.  Kings are men.  But I make kings and therefore am no man.  I am of higher stuff.  The stuff that men breath, in blessing and in curse.  The wind that leaves their lips and whispers in each ear the name of legend.
  Once more I boast, though not in boast, but fact, and so you should not forget, though I have spoken oft this, proudly beating my breast.  I have said this under my breath with crowns in the hands:
  I make kings.

  What think you milords?

 

[Vovolov]

But I am sure to include my good name for good measure

I'm no expert, at all. But this line has 'good' in it twice, and fairly close together, which doesn't sound (read?/look?) good. But, it's interesting and I'd like to read some more.

 

[Elenmmare]

I approve of this. I trust you've read a bit of Cornwall in your day, judging on the character's apathetic introduction

 

[Dryvus]

You should write about Ser Criston Cole the Kingmaker instead.

Edit: Actually, don't.

 

[Lueii]

But I am sure to include my good name for good measure

I'm no expert, at all. But this line has 'good' in it twice, and fairly close together, which doesn't sound (read?/look?) good. But, it's interesting and I'd like to read some more.

I was trying to imiate a very formal fellow but still you are right, it sounds awkard.

I approve of this. I trust you've read a bit of Cornwall in your day, judging on the character's apathetic introduction

I actually based it somewhat on Richard III's opening speech (not very much though just the arrogance and the idea of ambition), and I tried to depict him as a tragic hero.  I have never read cornwall though...

You should write about Ser Criston Cole the Kingmaker instead.

Edit: Actually, don't.

I won't.  6750 words is bit much to change.

Thanks my good lords. I will post Chapter I shortly.

 

[Lueii]

Part I:  The Neville

Chapter I
1434, Middleham
  "Dickon!" she spoke.  My mother hurried me in my stiff colorful clothes to the courtyard.  "Dickon, go!  Beaucamp be here."
  I remember Beaucamp.  The day the king's teacher came to me.  The day was in the year of our lord 1434.  Fall was coming, the bitter chill of winter, was nipping at our noses.  It's bite was not yet keen.
  I rushed down, hobbling down the stairwell, my mother and her ladies hurried us down the halls.
  I nearly tripped.  But I refused to fall.  Nevilles never fall but rather stand tall.  Even those who are less then tall.  We slid to position in front of the giant keep.  Our father joined us with his false smile.
  Beaucamp came into the courtyard with Anne.  On a white horse wearing yellow and red.  Behind this were ten retainers, wearing the bears and the yellow crosses, on their red tabards.  Their cloaks spead behind them, and they bore swords by their sides, with their yellow feathered black hats.
  He smile, with a clean shaven face, and swung off his saddle like some ape of far Egpyt.  My father strode forward and embraced him:
  "How be my good lord Warwick? Has the road been kind to you?"
  "The road, my gentle Salisbury, is as kind as winter ice to spring," Beaumont said.  Then he looked at me.  "My son in law is here to greet me?"  He smiled and kneeled to my level.
  "You are ****'s son."  It was stated.
  "I am," I said.  "Your lordship."
  "I am Beaucanp," he said.  "So you are the one **** promised to my daughter."  My eyes wen't back to an eight year old sitting on a horse near with her mother.  She was pretty.  Although I knew it not.
  "I am, your Lordship," I said again.
  "Then I charge thee with love," he said.  "To be a good husband to my daughter."
  He rose, tall as a mountain and strode over to his Ararat of a horse.  He lifted his daughter and set her down.  They strode over to me:
  "This is Anne," he said.  "She will be your wife.  Bid her welcome."
  "You are welcome gentle lady," I said shaking.
  "I thank you gentle lord," Then she leaned forward kissed me on the cheek.  As a little boy it wasn't as pleasant as it is now.  But I was a good actor.
  "I thank you again lady," I lied.  And I lied well for a six year old.  Never stopped getting better either.  I heard the pages laughing, in their minds.  My unfortunate reaction was to blush.  And then it turned to laughter...

  I had escaped my nurse.  It had been difficult but I had done it.  I wen't down the hall.  I was careful.  But I was not careful enough to notice milord of Warwick coming down the hall, book in hand.  He rammed into me and almost let fall his book with a startled cry.
  "My young lord of Warwick," he said, looking down rather amusedly down at me.  "I take it that your nurse has lost you."  I knew that it would be obivious if I lied.
  "Yes My Lord," I said.  He smiled and ruffled my hair.
  "We best find them," he said.  There was little thump as he snapped it shut.  I managed to see the title.  On the Art of Rule, it was named.
  "What is that book?" I asked.  He smiled.
  "It is for my student," he said.  "He is needed to learn all things on the matter on reigning."
  "Why?" I asked.
  "Because he is the king," he said.  "And it is my duty to help him see that."  He stopped and knelt.  "In a way, I make kings."  He then stood and continued his long march to my nurse.
  "How?" I asked.
  "By teaching him to be a king I make him a king," he said.  "He is a good student.  He will learn he is king eventually.  I hope to teach him that."
  "His father," he with a sigh.  "Yes, his father.  That glorious boy.  That Mars, that Aries, a Hyperion. If only he'd been of longer life.  Then his sunlight would not be required to come from his son."
  My nurse appeared from behind the next corner.
  "Dickon!" she shouted.  "Dickon where have you-"
  She saw him.  And she bowed:  "My gentle lord Warwick."  He continued his smile and raised her to standing.
  He walked away, flicking open his book.   

  As I hath stated I am Richard, son of Richard.  That Richard is, as mentioned, 5th Earl Salisbury.  He was also Warden of the West March.
  I was born the year old Montacute died and we lost the city of Orleans to the witch.  It was the year old Salisbury died and new salisbury (my father) became the Earl of Salisbury. 
  I remember little.  But I remember what is important.
  The marriage of York and Neville.  I remember it as a rush of white and red.  Not a true memory.  A fury of colors.  An alliance of power.  I did not know it until years later, when they spoke of my aunt and Richard's wedding.

1436
  It was in the great hall at Middleham.  In the castle that stood over the north.  Standing far over the pettiness that ruled in the south, farther away.  Incidently however, it did not stand on a very high hill.
  I was eight.  A dangerous age.  Marriagable.  It was in that mighty hall, of swirling fire, and winding smoke that my memory began.  My father, with his lusty laugh, my mother with her gentle smile.  We sat at the high table, with a castle cake.  It was shaped as Middleham was.
  And Anne.  Tall pretty Anne.  She was eight at this time.  And she was to be my wife.  I mumbled my oath and she her's in the chapel.  I don't even remember what I said.  I do remember my bride's kind smile.  Anne...
  But I suppose the man I remember most was Richard.  Tall, fine Richard.  Nearly four times older then I.  Twenty and three.  Barely a man by English standards, yet the most powerful man in England by any standard.  He sat with my Aunt.  Cecily.  Cecily Neville.  Proud Cis though that name is the same as the latter.  For all Nevilles are proud, high as welsh mountains beyond the marches.  And she was the Snowdon of them all.
  In the high timbered wall I watched the servants carry in the peacock, feathers still on.  They had a similar gait.  I brought the hall ringing with laughter when I noted this very loudly.
  In this moment was the first moment I had a true memory.  I heard them speak beside me:
  "Henry is young," he said.  "Far too young."  York was talking in hushed tones his young face covered in stubble.
  "Ironic from your mouth," my father said behind a smile.  Beaucamp was looking over to York:
  "With guidance we believe we will make a king out of him yet," he said.  "He is afterall only in his minority."
  "Exactly," York said.  "Beaucamp, you know much better then I do the state our grace is left in.  Not all of them are as good men as thyself."
  "Watch your tongue boy!" rebuked Beaucamp, his face curdled.  "You give to little regard to the other members of the council.  The king chose us well, god save his grace.  What you say is treason!"
  "Treason?" said York with a smirk.  "What is Treason?"
  There was a silence before my father, "What your father died for and all you should know of it is never to do it."
  "Or better still, if you do it, never get caught."  Another silence, then my father laughed.  They all laughed.  They thought I hadn't heard it.  I heard.  Most importantly, I remembered.
  I remembered the name York...
  And the kings name, Lancaster...
  And I knew in my heart, that those names would be immortal...

  It was then that I had to kiss Anne Beaucamp.  As I said before I was less then happy, but less then before.  Now I simply didn't mind.  Her lips were soft.  She was pretty too.  So when she was clumsy enough to allow me fall I wasn't kind.
  We obiviously didn't cosumate that night.  I wouldn't have anyways.  I was to angry at the silly little girl who embarassed me more times then I deserved.
  I have said: I never forget.

  It was the next day that Beaucamp left.  On his white horse, books in his bag, riding into the night.  I watched.  I knew in my heart we would not meet again.