Ravenspur: Rise of the Tudors (17 page)

At Nottingham, two men Edward had knighted years before caught up with their column, bringing fully six hundred about as road-weary and travel-stained as it was possible to be, after a hundred miles of loping along in his wake. Edward’s spirits began to rise as he considered how many others owed him their livelihoods and their estates, from lowly manors and trading licences, to barons and earls by the score. Just five months before, he had been their liege lord. If some of them chafed, it seemed they had not all forgotten their oaths.

At Leicester, the first of his great magnates showed his loyalty, as Baron Hastings arrived and knelt before him, renewing his oath to the ‘Rightful son of York and king of England’. Edward embraced the man in joy, at his loyalty, but also at the three thousand in steady ranks Hastings had brought with him to the London road. In all, six thousand men followed the two sons of York, with three lions held high along with the rose of York and the Sun in Flames. There were no hidden ambitions by then, as Edward strode through the camps. He spoke to anyone who asked him and affirmed he had come home for his crown.

That night, Richard and Edward broke bread with Lord Hastings, along with his captain, Sir William Stanley. Once more Edward touched no wine or ale and those who knew
him well were solemn, even moved at the changes in him. He ate just a little and pushed away a plate that had not been scoured clean, looking at the newcomers with clear eyes and a fine colour to his skin, the picture of health.

‘Your Highness,’ Hastings said, beaming. ‘I am overjoyed to see you so hale and strong. I only wish every man of England could observe you this moment, perhaps to compare you to the sickly creature and his French wife who are the alternative.’

‘And men like Warwick, Your Highness,’ Sir William Stanley added, raising his cup. ‘Damnation and death to him.’ Stanley had a wiry look compared to some of his rank, with a lustrous beard finely trimmed about his chin and curling into thick moustaches. Edward might have dismissed him as a fop, but his brother Lord Stanley had been a great supporter and it was said the younger son knew the skills of war as well as any other who had devoted his life to them. Richard nodded unreservedly to Stanley’s toast, raising his cup in reply. There could be no settlement with Warwick, not again. Such men had turned traitor so many times they could never be trusted, but only put down like a mad dog.

‘Your three thousand are more than welcome, Lord Hastings,’ Edward replied, settling himself. ‘And I will spend them well. Tell me, then, what news have you of Warwick, of the Earl of Oxford? Of all those traitorous bastards who thought they could run me out of England and never pay a price for that scorn! Tell me of them.’

Hastings gave a great bark of laughter to see Edward so fierce and full of brag.

‘There are perhaps six thousand gathered at Newark, my lord. Under de Vere, Earl Oxford. A far greater force lies with Warwick at Coventry to the south. Some say he has twenty thousand there, or even more.’ For an instant, Hastings looked uncomfortable, but forced himself to continue
speaking. ‘Your … brother George is to the south and west of us, my lord. He has some three thousand of his own men and they say he is loyal to Warwick, as his father-in-law.’

‘Yes, Lord Hastings. They do say that,’ Edward replied, with a glance at Richard. ‘My brother has been tainted by Warwick’s influence, that is true enough. I am not certain of him, but I will call on blood over marriage and see which way he leaps.’

Edward waved his hands to clear away unpleasant thoughts.

‘I have my path then, or at least the first step. Newark, if they gather there. We will march, what, a day north? I would not leave that six thousand at my back, perhaps to join with Montagu, when he finally finds the courage to leave his castle at Pontefract. No, that will suit me well – and give me a chance to bind these men into companies. I have found battle to be a powerful bond, Hastings. I have seen too much of it perhaps, but I am not finished yet. Tell your men to be ready to march before dawn. I will see these Oxford dogs and kick their disloyal teeth back down their throats. And I will not stop then, not until it is done.’

Edward’s lords and captains matched him with shouts and clatter, as he was to be seen fully dressed and clear-headed even before the sun had risen. With the king waiting on their pleasure, they raced around to rouse their men from slumber, kicking them into line. There was no time for a proper breakfast and instead they gulped water and snatched meat pasties handed to them as they passed the cooking carts.

Edward’s warhorse was snorting and pawing the ground, taking its mood from the man who waited upon its back. His impatience spread to the rest of them and they set off at a pace that had them sweating after just a mile or two. Yet the
road was good and there were streams across their path to take in cold water. Newark was some twenty miles from their camp, but they reached the outer lines of Oxford’s scouts long before noon, sending those men racing back to carry news of their approach.

Edward slowed the pace then, enough for his captains to arrange the men in wider lines for battle. He sent the hundred Flemish hand-gunners into the front ranks, eager to see what they could do with the heavy guns they carried on their shoulders. He had seen such things before, but they still seemed more noise and smoke than actual bite.

They were to be disappointed. The ranks of hand-gunners shrugged and pinched their smoking fuses dead as the sun reached just past noon. Ahead of them, the trail of thousands of men could be seen stretching away to the south. There were always scraps left behind to mark the passage of an armed force – broken sandal straps and buttons, rotten food thrown down, broken poles and weapons gone to rust. Edward was disappointed, though he saw his men were pleased enough that they would not fight that day. His brother too seemed cheerful and when Edward called him over to ask the reason, Richard laughed.

‘They will not stand, Brother! Can’t you see it? First Montagu hid behind his walls, now Oxford and his captains run for their mothers at the first sight of this royal army marching into sight. Your reputation goes ahead of us like another ten thousand men. They are terrified of you.’

‘Well, they should be,’ Edward said, brightening. He put aside his desire to see the first blow of his return and simply accepted that an enemy haring away in bleating terror was almost as good, perhaps even better for spreading the word.

‘Have the men camp here,’ he called to Anthony Woodville as the big man dismounted nearby. ‘But keep the scouts wide.
I will not be ambushed by some scoundrel. Make sure we can see them coming.’

Lord Rivers bowed and went off to pass on the news. The king’s brother-in-law was smiling at Edward’s rekindled enthusiasm, so very different from the bleak months behind them. They all felt it. The army was too small, God knew, but it was still better to be on the move than rooted in one spot.

It took a few hours to collect the camp followers who had fallen behind. Though the day was not old, Edward passed orders for them to rest and mend. They would spend the spring afternoon tending weapons and cuts and eating the vast amounts healthy men needed to march and fight. Trappers went trotting off into the local woods, while others sought out healthy cattle to buy or steal. Rivers chuckled as he hobbled his horse with an old rein and removed his saddle and tack. He remembered the fat and drunken king Edward had been. To see the great hawk returned to them, lean and fierce, was a joy.

Scouts came in and out of the York camp at all hours, working shifts of half a day to keep their eyes fresh for anyone else creeping about in the hills. At sunrise the following morning, one of them came racing in from the north, blowing his horn and yelling the alarm. The entire camp came alive as six thousand men threw off blankets and took up blades and armour. News spread as fast as it could be shouted, that the banners of Montagu had been sighted there, with thousands on the march. It seemed John Neville had come out after all, behind them.

Edward yawned as he was startled awake. He slept on his back in the night air, resting on a blanket and wrapped in two or three cloaks so that his face was bared to the sky and damp. He rose and dressed as the excited young scout stood at his side and passed on his news, proud as a cockerel at being of use.

‘Thank you, son,’ Edward said. He reached in a pouch for a silver penny and found a gold angel in his hand instead. The scout’s eyes widened and Edward chuckled. He took a moment to search for a different coin and then gave up. He was in a strange, light mood, now that his campaign had a sense of life to it. He tossed the coin and the young man snatched it in awe, delighted. Edward looked up to see his brother Richard watching him in amusement.

‘What makes you smile so, Brother?’ Richard said. ‘Did I not hear that Montagu is creeping around behind us?’

‘He is, Richard. Don’t you see it? Warwick lies ahead with his army, with his host. John Neville leans on our shadow behind, so that we are forced south. Just as it was last year, when we ran for the coast.’

‘I do not see why that is cause for your bright eyes …’ Richard replied, beginning to worry that his brother had gone mad.

‘It is not the
same
, Richard. I had eight hundred before, in the winter. I have six thousand with me now, in the spring. And you know, I am not the man I was. I tell you, Brother. I will eat them alive when they come. I will call them out for their treachery and their cowardice and I will spit their bones back!’

Derry Brewer raised a silver fork with a piece of roasted pork on it. The polished implement had been the gift of the Italian ambassador, a man whose company Derry enjoyed, though he trusted him not at all. Ambassador D’Urso was clearly a spy, though he seemed genuinely pleased that Lancaster had regained the throne. Old nations preferred stability, Derry assumed. They did not enjoy usurping kings, or peasant revolts. Such things made the foundations of their own kingdoms tremble. Before he had gone, the man had said that Edward had left by the door and would have
difficulty finding his way in by the window. That he would surely leave his skin behind. Derry chuckled to himself. It was amusing how foreigners talked.

‘One more, Harry,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ King Henry frowned slightly without looking at him, but he opened his mouth and Derry pressed the piece of meat and gravy between his lips, watching patiently as he chewed.

When a knock sounded, Derry arranged the table so that the bowl and the fork were in front of the king and no sign remained that he had been feeding him like a child. He called for the visitor to enter, fully aware that only the most important news could have found its way past the layers of guards at each door and stair of the Palace of Westminster.

The man who entered handed over a grey pigeon, held upside down and seemingly quite at peace. Derry’s interest sharpened at seeing a tiny brass tube attached to its leg. He checked it had not been disturbed and gave the bird back to the man as he backed away, flickering a glance at the seated king, who had not reacted at all.

Derry unspooled a tiny strip of paper, standing closer to the windows to see it in the best light. He dropped it into the flame of an oil lamp then and sat back down by King Henry, taking up the fork and the bowl, long cold.

‘Edward of York has landed, Your Highness,’ Derry said softly. ‘He is riding south, where we are waiting for him.’

He had not expected a reply and Derry blinked as the king spoke.

‘Cousin York is a good man, Derry.’

‘Of course he is, Your Majesty. Course he is. Come on now, if you don’t mind. One more piece. You have to eat to stay strong.’

The sun shone and Edward inspected his new horse, the gift of a knight who had bred the massive brown destriers himself and clearly wished to impress him. Sir James Harrington had also brought forty lads from the town he owned a few miles from Leicester, a dozen archers among them. In all, it had been a princely gift and if they survived, Edward knew he would indeed find some reward for the man, along the lines of dean of his chapel, or one of a hundred posts that were a king’s to bestow, each bringing wealth and status to the owner.

‘I will ride him this very day and test his wind, Sir James,’ he said. ‘I would be pleased to have you accompany me.’ The knight dropped to one knee, overwhelmed. As Edward turned aside, Sir James rejoined the gaggle of his family and servants outside, pleased as anything to have spoken to the king.

Edward turned to his brother, watching him wryly. He smiled at Richard’s expression.

‘Would you have dismissed him or scorned him after such a gift, Richard? England is made of such fellows. Clever, deal-making men who work all the hours of the day and kiss their wives and count their coins at the end of it. Men of good judgement and clear sight, hard to fool, who will bend the knee to me only if they think I am a man to follow.’

‘Then I am pleased you are such a man, Brother,’ Richard said. ‘Though I worry you have let their admiration turn your head.’

Edward chuckled, rubbing his big hand along the muzzle of the horse. It loomed over even him, an animal of extraordinary strength and size. Yet it stood calmly, trained and watchful.

‘You are the one who opened my eyes, Richard. Montagu hangs back, Oxford runs with his tail tucked away as soon as he sights my banners. They are afraid – and I am glad of it. I have said I will not stop. I will take risks enough to shame the devil himself! How else would you have me turn this small army into a victory? You know Warwick has a host …’ He broke off, clenching his fists as he heard how loud his voice had become. He whistled for a servant and handed the horse over, then stepped closer to his brother.

‘Richard, I have too few. If Warwick had the sense – no, the warlike manner to move against me, we would be swallowed up. I am a man who has to throw his sword! If it strikes home, that will end it. If it misses, the man will be made to seem a fool, mocked and defenceless. Do you understand? That is why I have our columns growing lean and strong on these marches. We must hit Warwick before he decides he has the strength and numbers to chase us down. Even with too few men, I can challenge him. I can call him out. Who knows, he might even face me.’

Richard rubbed at his mouth, suddenly aching for a drink to take the edge off all his worries. He had not said anything about it, but as Edward suffered on through his abstinence, Richard had quietly matched him. His appetites had never been nearly as great, but he found the lack of ale and wine had sharpened him, sometimes to an edge that cut. He felt the lack when anger and frustration overwhelmed him. That was when brown ale and clear spirits would have been a wondrous ease to his troubled mind. Without them, the world was full of thorns and irritations.

‘I am at your side, Edward, right to the end, even if you throw your sword. I swear it, I will not let you down. Nor any man who has come to you here. Perhaps they are worth two or three of those who stand against us because of that loyalty. I hope so.’

‘Mount up, Brother,’ Edward said, chuckling. ‘You think too long, on everything. There are times when you must just ride out – and be damned to all those who would hold you back.’

The warhorse was a fine mount, though Edward was sure to have his usual gelding brought along as well in case the new one was too skittish for fighting. As with men, a steady nerve was at least as important in a horse as strength or even training. He patted the blue-and-red silk that draped the warhorse, stepping on to a block to throw his leg over. His men watched him, ready and calm. Edward smiled and raised his open hand to them. They cheered, as he’d known they would, lifted by his great spirit, to joy. The city of Leicester dwindled behind them as they marched away, taking another two hundred volunteers.

The road was flat and dry and the sun rose into a sky studded with white, warming the marching men. Coventry was barely fifteen miles from where they had made their camp and the word among them was that Edward would march them right down Warwick’s throat, that they would see battle that very day. Yet it was not even noon when the scouts came racing back, on mounts still fresh. The men trudging along on Roman stones glanced at one another and were not surprised when they were made to halt. The captains went forward for orders and brought back the command to form squares for battle.

Richard of Gloucester commanded two thousand on the right wing, his own banners raised there by knights in full
armour. Edward held the centre: three thousand men who were the strongest and most experienced he had. The left wing, staggered back, was commanded by Earl Rivers with Hastings and Stanley as his seconds, the three men waiting patiently as their captains assembled the ranks. It was not an impressive manoeuvre from men who had not known each other even a month before. There was a great deal of swearing and shoving and loss of tempers. Yet when they had found the places to stand, they took good grips on billhooks and pikes, on pollaxe and woodaxe, like men who knew how to use them. Archers assembled on the outer wings under their own bow captains, while ahead of the front rank, the hand-gunners gathered, just a hundred with matches smoking thin trails into the air. Two dogs had followed the army as it moved on from Leicester. They were bounding along the front ranks in enormous excitement, barking at all the men who stood and looked into the distance. There was some nervous talk and laughter in the ranks then, as old friends mocked each other’s nervousness to ease their own. More than a few crossed themselves and touched relics hidden beneath shirts, glancing up to heaven as their lips moved.

Complete silence fell as the three battles of men sighted an enemy trudging towards them across the fields. The sight brought a chill and one of the men sent a dog yelping with a great kick when it barked at him. Another said something wry in response and a ripple of laughter sounded in that part of the army, though the rest did not hear it and waited quietly.

Only the scouts knew how many they had seen and even then, the numbers would be the best guess of untutored boys. The only reality that mattered was to watch the ranks forming and widening with each step, though at least the day was clear. In fog or darkness, there was no way to know how
many they faced. Men like Edward who had fought in snow and through the night at Towton could remember the horror of it, the sense of endless hordes of enemies who would never falter, never stop coming, while your strength and your will faded with every step. It was a memory of such fear and despair that they did not think of it, until it came upon them again.

‘Hold this ground!’ Edward roared across the lines. He had brought his new destrier to the front rank of the centre and drawn his sword to hold aloft. ‘My lord Gloucester, you will attend me here.’

The ranks of men watched in confusion as that order was carried across the lines and Richard Plantagenet rode in from the right wing, joining his brother. The two of them called over one of the scouts and spoke earnestly to him, the young man’s head bobbing as he confirmed what he had seen. Once again, men who knew each other in the ranks looked round and shrugged. They were ready to fight, their hearts pounding, all aches vanishing. They watched as a dozen senior captains gathered and trotted off together, for all the world a parley group. It made no sense to those who had come to fight for York.

A mile away, just over, some eighteen hundred yards, those with the sharpest eyes could make out banners brought up by the enemy. Whoever commanded them had matched their width, though no one could say even then how many ranks they faced, how deep the companies and squares were. The banners they saw were quartered, just as Edward’s shield was, containing two squares of three lions and two of the fleurs-de-lis of France. Yet the banners held across the field and still approaching had a strap of silver across them. George of Clarence, a royal duke of the house of York, was on the field. As the men in ranks watched, the great force
came to a halt, some eight hundred yards away. It was close enough to be a threat and they gripped axe-handles and retied belts and loose pieces of kit, aware that the peace of the day could be broken at any moment by wild yells and horns. It took only two minutes for opposing armies to crash together at that range, a period of rushing terror that no one who had experienced it would ever forget.

The order to attack did not come and those in the front ranks saw captains and knights ride out from Clarence. They met in the middle of the field, grim and serious men, gauging the intentions of the others. They would have talked longer if Edward and Richard had not ridden up to that central point with Earl Rivers and half a dozen guards. Edward’s confidence showed clearly in his manner, as if he could not imagine being in danger.

Some of Clarence’s men trotted away to take Edward’s promise of safe passage and it was then that George of Clarence rode out, bare-headed, to that central point. He smiled nervously as he reined in, facing his brothers.

‘I accept safe conduct and grant it,’ Edward called to the men gathered around to protect them. ‘You have my thanks, gentlemen. Return now, that my brothers and I may speak alone.’

George of Clarence echoed the order and all those who had ridden out turned their horses away without a word and cantered off, leaving the three men staring at each other.

‘Did my Irishman reach you?’ Richard asked. George nodded, his tongue thick in his mouth so that he did not know what to say. They all sensed the wrong word would have them bickering and silence seemed almost the better alternative.

‘Well, George?’ Edward said. He wore no helmet, but beyond that he had not unbent in any sense. He sat his
warhorse with a straight back, his gauntlets resting easily on a knot of reins. ‘Do you expect me to make this easy for you?’

George of Clarence made a sharp grimace and shook his head. Without hurry, he dismounted and approached. Armed and clad in iron, merely walking towards his brothers made both men straighten and ready themselves. Sensing their response, Clarence unbuckled his sword belt and held scabbard and blade out to one side. It was more a gesture than actually disarming himself, Richard noted. He would have to remember it.

The Duke of Clarence nodded to Richard, then addressed his gaze to the older brother he had betrayed.

‘I am sorry, Edward. I broke my word to you, my oath. It was losing the child. In my grief …’

‘We have all lost those we love, George,’ Edward said softly. Richard shot a glance at him. He had thought he knew his brother’s mind, but there was something threatening in the way Edward regarded their brother still, as if he had not forgiven him at all. For an instant, Richard had to consider if he would or even could stop Edward from striking George down. The men who had come to that field for Clarence could well be taken under the wing of his older brother. Edward lowered his head a touch further, staring down at a man who had chosen Warwick over his family.

George flinched as Edward went from stillness to sudden movement, dismounting lightly into the thick mud. In two strides, he was able to take his brother’s outstretched hand, then pull him into an embrace. George of Clarence laughed in honest relief.

‘You worried me, then,’ he said. ‘I thought when you saw I brought three thousand to fight for you, I would surely be forgiven, but I did not know. I have had so little sleep, Edward, in the last few days! Ever since you were said to have landed …’

Richard dismounted in turn, listening to his brother babbling. George had been more afraid than he’d let on, that much was clear from the torrent of words he could not seem to bring to an end. Edward stood back from him, still weighing him with that odd expression Richard had observed before.

‘We will put the past behind, George,’ Edward said. ‘That’s the place for it, don’t you think?’

‘I will make it right, Brother, I swear it. I was made a fool by Warwick, gulled by him with promises and lies. We all were! He is an asp, Edward. Those Nevilles … I swear your wife was right. They are a rotten heart, wherever they touch. We will put it right, Brother. I will put it right.’

‘As you say, George,’ Edward said. ‘Bring your captains here and place them under my command – so there is no confusion amongst them.’

‘Brother, they are loyal, I swear. I have marched them all the way from Cornwall, some of them. Kernow men who hardly speak English, but they know the sharp end of an axe.’

‘Good, George. Bring your captains in now, as I asked you once. If you make me ask a third time, I will strike you dead on this field. You will earn my trust again,
Brother
. You do not have it now.’

George stammered and went red, nodding and backing away as he waved in his captains. They approached warily and Edward addressed them, his voice firm and clear.

‘I’ll place a thousand of you on each wing, the rest to support me in the centre. I expect you to follow the orders of my lords as if they were my own – as if they were your father’s orders, or Almighty God come to tell you to stand and fight for me. I will reward bravery and great feats of arms, without limit of any kind. If you would earn a manor or a knighthood or a barony or even an earldom, you would do well to follow me today. Know that my enemy is Earl Warwick and he is
the richest man in England. When he falls, there will be a fair share made to you in my name. Is that understood?’

There was a gleam of avarice in some of the eyes that watched Edward, but Richard saw a touch of the old magic as well. There were men there, hard and experienced men, who were telling themselves they
would
come to the notice of the giant in polished plate. They would accomplish such deeds as would impress him. Edward brought out the best in the men who came under his command, that was the truth of it. It was not even in his words, but in the way he looked at them and the way he saw them.