A Rose for the Crown (68 page)

“Long live the king! Long live York!” was the cry Kate heard through the din. “King Edward has triumphed!”

Kate crossed herself. “Sweet Jesu be praised! Molly, Molly! ’Tis over. The king is restored! Stay here with John. I must know what has happened to Richard.”

All was chaos in the courtyard. Horses milling around with no owners, soldiers lying on the bloodied cobblestones groaning in pain, others shouting for water or food, and carts still rumbling through the postern gate with more wounded or dying. Kate dragged Katherine along the flagstones and down the stairs to the hall. Soldiers were pouring in there, too. Those in good health were being thumped on the back by the pages and lackeys left behind; those wounded were being wrapped in blankets and linens and given water and comfort. A priest had hitched up his robe the better to run from one dying man to another, giving succour and the last rites. Despite those in dire straits, the mood was exultant. Kate saw the steward and ran to him.

“Master Dudley, what of my lord of Gloucester? Do you have word of him?”

“Kate! Kate Haute!” Rob Percy’s voice floated over the crowd to her. “Over here!”

She picked up Katherine and ran to where Rob was resting from carrying a wounded man to the dais under the stained-glass windows.

“Mother of God, ’tis Richard!” Kate cried, regretting that she had brought Katherine with her. The child was whimpering, overwhelmed by all the confusion, bloodied bodies and noise. She screamed when she recognized her unconscious father, and Kate tried to calm her. Then she settled the child into the throne on the dais and told her to stay there and not move. Her mother’s distress impressed Katherine, and she sank into the soft cushions and went silent. Kate bent over Richard. His tunic was covered in blood, but she was not certain if it was his or that of the many
others with whom he must have battled. He appeared to be asleep. There was an angry bruise over one eye, and his nose was bloodied.

Rob was matter-of-fact. “He is not badly hurt, Kate. Just a flesh wound to his left arm, but he has lost a lot of blood. He will live, have no fear!” he added quickly when he saw Kate’s stricken look. “You should have seen him. He was magnificent! He is just dog-tired, as are we all. We have just come from St. Paul’s. The bishop was none too pleased to see us all stagger up the aisle in our armor, I can tell you. The king bade me take Richard to you, so we missed the sermon—God be thanked! Now, if you would take care of him, I can be of greater assistance elsewhere.”

“Where are his squires? John, Tom?”

Rob’s face was grim. “They were both slain today, Kate. Hard by Richard’s side. I will send mine to you apace, I promise.”

“John dead?” Kate whispered, remembering the dressing scene of the day before. “’Tis too high a price to pay.”

“Nay, Kate. For such a victory, he would be glad to give his life, I promise you.” He turned and left.

Richard opened his eyes and managed a weak smile when he saw Kate. “You see, my love, I promised I would return. If you will but bandage up my arm, I shall live to fight another day.”

“Can you walk, Richard? Let me take you to our chamber. ’Tis sleep you need.”

He nodded, stood unsteadily and leaned on her shoulder. Some of the men saw him stand, and a cheer went up.

“God bless Gloucester! God bless our young duke!”

Soon the hall was ringing with cheers. Kate blinked back tears as the ranks parted to let them through. Slowly, they made their way up the stairs and to the peaceful chamber, where Richard fell on the bed, exhausted.

“Fetch me a bowl of water, Molly, and make some bandages quickly. My lord is wounded.” Kate ripped the soiled tunic off him and attempted to remove the heavy jacket. “God’s nails, this is worse than women’s garb to remove,” she complained.

Richard opened an eye and grinned. “That’s my Kate. Here, let me help you. First you must remove the arm guard.” He raised himself up,
wincing as he unthinkingly braced himself on his wounded arm. “Certes, ’tis nothing, Kate. You should have seen the man who did this after I was finished with him. It was just before John—”

“Soft, my love. I am truly sorry about John, but you must be quiet and let me undress you.”

The arm guard and chain mail had not protected him from a sword cut, and both were caked with blood. The two women eventually removed both and exposed the deep, four-inch gash that had narrowly missed the bone.

“Ouch! Have a care, Kate. That hurts!” Richard could have been a little boy who had just scraped his knee, and his whine brought a smile to Kate’s face.

“Bring me my silks and a large needle, Molly. They may finally have a more practical use than decorating kerchiefs.”

Molly did as she was told and watched, fascinated, as Kate made three large stitches with scarlet thread. Richard moaned in pain, and Molly refilled his wine cup twice before Kate was done. In no time, the wound was liberally daubed with plantain ointment from Kate’s traveling supply of potions and then bandaged. She tucked him into bed, gently resting his wounded arm on top of the covers. Richard’s eyes finally closed, and Kate pulled the string that released the curtains around him and stepped away from the bed.

As she was returning the ointment to its proper place, she let out a wail. “Katherine! I forgot Katherine!”

Molly had been busy doing Kate’s bidding, knowing her charge was taking a nap next door. She presumed Kate had given the girl into someody’s keeping while she had brought Richard to their chamber. Her eyes widened with fear.

“Where is she, mistress?” she whispered.

“I left her in the hall, on the throne. Poor child, she will be terrified. There are soldiers dying down there, Molly. Blood everywhere. You stay here, and I shall find her. Pray God, she stayed where she was.”

Kate closed the door quietly behind her and took off running down the hallway again. She had to step over dozens of men lying bleeding and spent on the hall floor to get to the dais. She expected to find a hysterical
child when she got there, but, curled up unnoticed in the chair cushions where Kate had left her, Katherine was fast asleep.

T
HE NEXT EVENING,
after twelve hours of sleep and a day of rest, Richard was in better spirits. A messenger from Edward told him to take advantage of the respite, for in a few days they would muster more men to deal with Queen Margaret. Thanks to Kate’s ministrations, Richard’s wound looked healthy enough, and no fever had ensued. He spent the day dozing and playing with his children. The presence of his little family gave him peace after one of the most dramatic events of his life.

Rob and Francis Lovell, another of Richard’s comrades from those years with the earl of Warwick, had been invited to share supper with Richard and Kate. Francis was younger than Richard and shy. He seemed surprised to meet Kate and the children.

“Does he know of me?” Kate whispered to Richard as the two young men played hide and go seek with Katherine.

A worried frown creased Richard’s forehead. “Nay, Kate. I swore to you I would tell no one but Rob. I am a man of my word. But Francis is my friend, I am proud for him to know you. I hoped you would not mind.”

“If he is your friend, I am sure we may trust him. But let us speak of this later. We must attend to our guests.”

Later, when Molly removed Katherine and persuaded her to go to bed, Richard sent a page with an order for supper to be served. It was only then that Kate was told the story of the battle.

“The fog was so thick that Richard’s wing outflanked Exeter’s—that means our line extended past Exeter, and we were bogged down in a marsh trying to get up the slope to the enemy—” Rob began.

“Because Exeter’s artillery was inflicting no damage on us—which should have happened—I realized there was something wrong with our position. In other words, Kate, we outflanked them, as Rob said,” Richard interrupted. “But we had to cross the bog and climb a hill to find the enemy. When we did, and we finally engaged his ranks, somehow both sides had turned away from the center line, do you see?”

Kate did not, but she nodded.

“What we didn’t know, madam, because we were now so far away,”
Francis jumped in, “was that Oxford’s flank on the left of Warwick’s army had routed ours under Hastings’ command, and Hastings’ soldiers had fled in the fog. We just kept pushing Exeter, and Richard called to us to fight on as he was doing, even though we could barely see a face in front of us—the fog, you know.”

All three men were sitting on the edges of their seats, reliving the battle. Kate was quite confused with all these military terms, but she did not have the heart to tell that to these eager young soldiers describing their first battle.

“We were being pushed back to the hill tripping over our dead. And then John . . .” Richard paused and sadly shook his head. “I did not tell you, Kate, but John Milwater was killed not three paces from me.” Richard and the others crossed themselves. “May God keep his soul.”

Kate crossed herself. “Aye, may God rest his soul. And to think only yesterday . . .” She could not finish, it was pointless. “Go on . . . I think.”

She hoped she would not hear of others she knew. She dared not ask about Martin. And what of Jack and his son, Thomas? Perhaps Cousin Richard had been there? Oh, why did men have to go out and fight? Richard reached over and patted her hand. Sensitive to his audience, he had left out the goriest details and waited to continue.

“If I understand correctly,” Kate asked, pulling herself together and trying her best to sound knowledgeable, “our side was not doing well. How did the battle turn around?”

Richard smiled proudly at her, and all three men relished telling her the rest.

“Somehow in the thick of things I received a message from Edward to hold on and, in truth, that was all I could do. ’Twas then I was struck,” Richard said grimly, remembering how tired he had been though Edward’s fate depended on him. “Then a miracle happened. . . .”

“We heard ‘Treason! Treason!’ somewhere to our left and suddenly our foes began to fall back.” Rob leaned forward, his eyes shining.

Kate, not for the first time, looked puzzled. “Treason? Who? Why?”

“’Twas Oxford’s men,” Richard explained. “They had routed Hastings all the way to Barnet and were happily pillaging the town when Oxford succeeded in rounding them back up and marching them back to the field. However, some of Montagu’s men—Warwick’s brother, you remember—saw
Oxford’s banner of the Streaming Star through the mist and thought it was Edward’s Sunne in Splendour, and so they fired a volley of arrows into the midst of what they thought was their enemy. But it was their own side! Oxford’s men thought Montagu had turned his coat and so cried ‘Treason!’ This did so dishearten Montagu’s forces, they panicked, and Edward took advantage. Mistaken identity, Kate, it was as simple as that!” Richard said triumphantly.

“Hmm,” Kate said, not finding any of this simple at all.

“But it turned the tide, and soon Montagu was slain and his men fled,” Francis said.

“What of Warwick? Where was he?” Kate asked, trying not to imagine what a battlefield must look like after all the carnage.

The three young men went silent, all remembering the noble earl who at one time was their lord.

“Slain, like his brother Montagu. Both Nevilles are dead and will be laid out in St. Paul’s for all to see.” Richard’s regret was mirrored in the other two faces. He did not tell her that the most powerful lord in England had been cowardly struck down as he fled the field, hampered by his heavy armor. It is doubtful that Edward would have pardoned him had he been captured alive, but he might have died a noble’s death upon the scaffold.

“How . . . many? Jack Howard? Martin Haute?” Kate whispered their dear names.

“In all, more than one thousand men fell,” Richard said, and the others nodded. “Jack Howard survived, though his son was grievously wounded. Of Martin I cannot tell. But we shall find out, I promise you.”

R
ICHARD AND
K
ATE
had four days together before Edward summoned his brothers and his other commanders and moved to his stronghold at Windsor. During the four days, Richard spent much of his time dictating letters that were sent to every corner of the land seeking men for the coming campaign. Edward meant to pursue Queen Margaret and her commander, Somerset, and rid the country of her—and the Lancastrian threat—once and for all.

Kate and Molly were escorted on daily excursions by Rob Percy and his squire at Richard’s request. Some morbid curiosity took Kate to St.
Paul’s Cathedral, where she stood in a sea of citizens before the catafalques bearing the Nevilles. A black cloth covered their loins, but the rest of their naked bodies were displayed with hideous wounds marking how they died. The press of overdressed and sweating bodies coupled with the sickly sweet smell of incense made her light-headed, and she would have swooned had Rob not taken her arm and led her to a stone seat in an embrasure. It was as though she had not seen these two corpses but Richard’s exposed in the same manner, his beloved body covered with knife wounds. She took in a breath on a sob and covered her face with her hands.