Under His Discretion
by Stacy Von Haegert
Their legends have haunted the history books for hundreds of years, dating back to when the White Rose ruled majestically over England. On Nov 23, 1499 a country, divided in secret, watched as King Henry sat from atop his red velvet throne. They watched with baited breath as the pretender, Perkin Warbeck, nodded his regal head and smiled towards his beautiful Irish wife. No cheers rang out it was said when the scaffolding was kicked out from under his feet. Not a word was muttered when the body of who most of the world believe to be Richard, the only living son of Edward of York was cut down. The last of the passionate, mysterious and chivalrous Plantagenet’s bloodline fell to the ground with a thousand dropped white roses from loyalist hands on that cold winter’s day. It was then said, the carriage carrying the young widow on her way home was called to a stop by a stream. The beautiful raven-haired woman exited the rig, bowed her head and dropped a single white rose into the babbling brook. As the delicate petals drifted down and into their watery grave she recited a poem, her palm laid to rest on her abdomen.
It fell with no thought at all… It landed with a graceful, yet deliberate nod. So accepting was its fate. So brilliant its sacrifice. Trusting with knowledge that its loss would be felt and eventually its death, avenged…It fell with no thought at all, save one…My son…