The Beggar's Throne Page 14

  “Why has this man been imprisoned?” he asked Nigel.

  “He was captured by Clifford’s men after Wakefield, my lord.”

  “Master,” Oliver interrupted, “I have a message for you from the Earl of Rutland.” Edward stiffened. The grief of his brother’s death was still an open wound.

  “We will hear it in our tent,” he said softly. “We will send for you.”

  “Master!” Oliver was persistent. “My friends are part of the message.” He pointed to a man and a woman in equally deplorable condition.

  Edward turned to his personal guard. “See to it that they are all bathed and that their wounds are tended. Give them suitable clothing and bring them all to our tent.”

  With a motion to his captain, the army resumed its northward march.

  *

  Edward had dismissed everyone from his tent except Hastings and a personal guard after Nigel, Oliver, Samuel, and Sally had been escorted into his presence. The army was camped on the south shore of the River Aire while the work parties were busy building a bridge to replace the one that had been destroyed by the queen’s men. The weather continued to deteriorate as the night approached, with increasing winds driving icy snow flurries hard before them. Edward listened quietly as Oliver told him the story of Wakefield, and Samuel watched the king slump in his regal chair as he heard the story of Edmund’s murder. For the first time he noticed that Edward was only a year or two older than himself, not yet even twenty.

  “On the road you said that Edmund had given you a message,” Edward said after Oliver had finished the tale.

  “Forgive me, Master, but I thought it best to tell you of his final hours. It was only this, but he made me swear to tell you. He said that if he was to perish in battle, to commend him to his brother and to say that everything he did that day, he did for you. He bade me to remind you of the days at Ludlow and all things that were good therein, for he remembered them fondly and knew that you could find strength in those memories.”

  His brother’s message from beyond had left Edward in a trance. The memories of his childhood with Edmund would always hold a sacred place in his soul; how could he ever forget them? What was it that Edmund had told him that day at Baynards when they parted for the last time?

  “Edmund,” he whispered.

  “My lord, are you well?” asked Hastings. Edward waved him away and asked Oliver to relate the rest of the story of their flight from Wakefield and subsequent events.

  “You,” said Edward, addressing Samuel, “come forward.” Samuel came from behind Oliver and knelt. “We are grateful to you for saving the life of Oliver and our good servant Nigel of Devon. How can we repay you?”

  Samuel thought for a moment. It was not every day that one could ask a boon from a king.

  “I wish only a safe haven for my sister, Your Highness,” he said, “for she has been sorely abused by your enemies.”

  Hastings was about to berate Samuel for being overly presumptuous, but Edward silenced him with a wave of his hand.

  “I will see that she is carefully guarded until the battle is over. If God wills that we are victorious tomorrow, she shall be escorted back to Northwood and safely deposited with her family. Would that be satisfactory?”

  “Yes. Your Highness is most gracious.” Samuel looked at Sally, who said nothing.

  “Your Highness,” Oliver stepped forward, “I ask that I be allowed to accompany Sally to Northwood, if she will have me.”

  “You have our good leave. Sir William, see to their comfort and that our promise to these good subjects is fulfilled.” Hastings could not help but feel that the request was beneath him, but he bowed and escorted them from the king’s tent. Before they had gone far, one of Edward’s personal guard came up behind them and took Samuel’s arm.

  “The king requires that you come to him again.”

  Sally wrapped her arms around her brother. “No,” she said desperately. Samuel, knowing that he could not deny the king, handed her to Oliver.

  “It will be all right. Oliver will look after you.” Reluctantly, she let go and Samuel returned to the king’s tent.

  Edward was still on his chair, deep in thought as Samuel entered.

  “Your Highness has sent for me?” The king looked up and motioned for him to stand.

  “You did not say what you would have from me for yourself.”

  “I need nothing for myself, my lord. Your Highness has already been most gracious.”

  “Do you not seek retribution for what has been done to you and your family?”

  “If you are successful tomorrow, my lord, I will have all the retribution I need.”

  “We understand. But the problem remains that success tomorrow is not guaranteed, though we pray to God that he favors our cause. What would be your answer if we asked you to join our personal guard? To hear Nigel speak, you are skilled with the bow, and such men will be sorely needed.” Samuel did not immediately respond. “We could insist,” Edward added, “but feel that we owe you at least the option of refusing, and if you do, you have our leave to go. But consider this: You will never get a better chance to avenge yourself on Clifford and Northumberland.”

  Samuel honestly did not feel the need in his heart for revenge, but he also knew that if Edward were to lose the next conflict with the Lancastrians, he and Sally could find themselves back in the Pontefract dungeons before long, and the thought of that was too terrifying to contemplate.

  “I would be honored to join your guard, my lord,” he said, bringing a quick smile to the king’s face.

  “Splendid,” said Edward. “We shall notify the captain. He will see to your provisions.”

  As Samuel left the tent, he hoped that Christopher never found out about his new job. Things were bad enough between them already.

  The next morning brought with it a strong southerly wind that drove a light snow before it. The late March sky was gray and low over the River Aire as Edward’s workforce put the last touches on the replacement bridge. Samuel stood in his new colors, refreshed by a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast of salted pork, wheat bread, and a tankard of ale. The king’s personal guard was well fed. Ready to join his new brothers in arms, he said his farewells to Oliver and Sally.

  “I love you, Samuel,” she said, embracing him. “Please come back to us.” Samuel could not find words to respond. She returned to her tent, not able to bear the pain of the farewell any longer.

  “You can depend on me to take good care of her,” Oliver said, taking his friend’s hand.

  “I know it,” Samuel said.

  “I want you to know before you go…” he struggled for the words, “that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and…and that I’m proud of you as well.”

  They embraced for a moment, and then Oliver followed Sally back into the tent. Samuel lingered for a second or two, then headed to the mustering area for the king’s guard.

  *

  Shouting came from the river. The captain of the king’s guard, Sir Julian Admonds, swiftly organized his men and led the rush to the bridge. When they arrived, there were men fighting on the bridge and arrows were flying in both directions across the river. To Samuel’s horror, he saw Lord Clifford’s men attempting a crossing. Hastings was down on the bank directing the troops.

  “Hell’s fire!” yelled Sir Julian. “Did it not occur to anybody that a bridge can be used from both directions?” Samuel nocked an arrow. Sir Julian set them on top of the first ridge along the road to the south. His first duty was to protect the person of the king, and if any of the enemy made it across the bridge they would have to pass his position.

  Edward and Warwick came over the ridge with their men and fell headlong into the fray. With Edward in the thick of the battle, his guards had to become fo
otsoldiers. Sir Julian led them down the ridge to within range and directed their arrows against the men on the bridge.

  The bow felt good in Samuel’s hands. His aim was still true and his shots hit their mark each time at this close range. He saw Warwick take an arrow in the leg, which caused him to withdraw with some of his personal guard. Clifford’s men gained the south side of the river, and Edward’s men began to fall back.

  *

  Clifford had waited patiently all night while the rebels rebuilt the bridge. He knew he could give them a proper surprise as soon as their work was completed.

  Now the moment had arrived. The queen had ordered him to rejoin her forces after he had destroyed the bridge, but he had seen a chance to catch the rebels and perhaps put an end to their leaders while their entire army was stretched for miles along the road leading to the bridge.

  When first light broke, he ordered his men across and led them with his huge sword flashing red with blood.

  They finally cut through the soldiers on the bridge and poured over the south side. He saw Edward in the thick of the fighting and turned his horse in that direction.

  *

  Samuel had never been instructed in the use of a sword — did not even have one. Instead, he withdrew up the ridge to gain a vantage point. Sir Julian watched him depart, and with a scowl waded into the enemy.

  Upon reaching the ridgetop, Samuel surveyed the battle, which had grown much closer now that Clifford’s men had gained the south side. In fact, they were all now within range of his bow. Searching desperately, he finally reacquired sight of Lord Clifford, dangerously close to the king. He nocked his arrow and gauged the distance to Clifford himself. When he loosed the arrow, he was confident of his aim, and indeed, his arrow did strike its intended target. Unfortunately, Clifford turned at the last moment and the projectile bounced harmlessly off his breast armor.

  Even from his distance, Samuel could tell that the strike had startled Clifford, but his attention was not distracted from the fighting around him. Samuel let another arrow fly.

  The second arrow passed through Clifford’s throat and halfway out the back of his neck. Still holding his huge sword, he fell from his horse.

  *

  Without Clifford’s inspiration, his attack quickly fell apart, and the remains of his troops fled across the bridge toward Saxton, closely pursued by Edward’s vanguard. When he saw that the battle was done, Samuel slowly descended from the ridge. The king was standing over Clifford’s lifeless body.

  “He does not appear so menacing now, does he, my friends?” said Edward, turning him with his foot. “But now is the time to press our advantage.” He had raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “Captains, gather your men. The way is clear to finish French Margaret!” A loud cheer went up from the men, who all gathered in their units and began to cross the bridge.

  After a new vanguard had formed across the river, Edward and the Nevilles — Warwick’s leg bandaged but not badly wounded — crossed the bridge. The entire army was soon passing through Saxton and into the Dintingdale Valley just south of the town of Towton. A tributary of the Warfe, the River Cock, ran along the left side of the valley in a deep ravine that meandered around several wooded loops, while a broad plateau rose to the right side of the valley. As they passed through town, Sir Julian rode up next to Samuel and dismounted. Leading his horse by the rein, he walked next to his new recruit.

  “That was the best arrow strike I have ever seen back there, lad. To strike an armored horseman in the neck at that range is nothing short of a miracle.” Samuel smiled in acknowledgment. “I wanted you to know that before I tell you this: I’ll not have my men acting on their own whims. This time, you very well might have saved the king’s life, so I’ll not gut you like a fish and leave you for the crows. But if it happens again, you’ll not get another warning. Do you understand that, lad?”

  Samuel was taken aback by Sir Julian’s words, which were spoken in an almost friendly manner, but he knew with a single look that there was no prevarication in the portly knight.

  “It will not happen again, Sir Julian. I swear it.”

  He thumped Samuel on the back. “I believe you.” He mounted his horse and looked down once more. “Where did you learn to handle a bow like that, lad?”

  “It came naturally to me when I was being trained. The captain of Northumberland’s guard said I had an eye for it.”

  “I’m glad you’re with us now, lad,” he said, trotting off to the front of the column.

  Samuel shivered against the cold wind that drove a hard snow before it, coming up the valley from behind them. He began to make mental adjustments for how the wind would affect the flight of his arrows. The ranks in front began to break and spread out across the narrow valley. Then for the first time he saw the queen’s army, and the sight of it made him tremble even more. As Nigel had reported, they had indeed occupied the strategic plateau that commanded the road as it wound past Towton and points north. To his experienced eyes, it appeared that Edward’s army was outnumbered by several thousand.

  Word came from the front to prepare for an assault. Samuel had expected as much, as there would be no other way to dislodge Margaret’s army. Sir Julian came back to organize the guard. When he had them together, he addressed them from horseback.

  “The king has ordered us to accompany him on the left flank. Follow me and stay together.”

  Edward’s army advanced in three ranks, the standard battle tactic of the day. The king gave the Nevilles charge of the center and right flank and, taking command of the left himself, began the march up the valley toward the enemy’s positions. As they reached the foot of the plateau, the archers were ordered to advance to within range and fire. It was at this point that the archers were in the greatest peril — their counterparts had the strategic advantage of greater height. On this day, however, the wind came howling up the valley directly into the faces of the Lancastrians, causing their arrows to fall short while the Yorkists’ arrows flew to their targets. The charge was ordered, and the main army began its arduous ascent. Because the Lancastrian archers could not reach the enemy, the Yorkists gained the ridge top and the two front lines of the huge armies collided with the sound of thousands of weapons crunching together.

  Bodies fell by the hundreds between the two armies, the heaps of dead and wounded creating a barrier between the lines. Soldiers coming from the rear ranks found it necessary to climb over the piles of bodies to continue the engagement, and all the while, the snow drove up from the valley floor, a curse to both sides. The battle line began to fragment as soldiers sought to find ground that was clear of bodies on which to better stand and fight.

  Samuel and the guard stayed close to the king, some wielding deadly battle-axes or short swords and some, like Samuel, firing arrows at short range when they could find clear targets. Samuel had to scavenge for arrows to keep his supply, a task made easier as they ascended the ridge because of all the Lancastrian arrows that had fallen short in the wind. The battle at the top of the plateau raged on for two hours until the sheer number advantage of the Lancastrians began to take its toll. Some of Edward’s ranks on both flanks began to break and flee, a condition that Edward knew well could be highly contagious.

  He broke off his fighting and ran his horse behind his troops’ lines shouting encouragement and attempting to shore up lines where they were weak. Warwick was doing the same on the right side, and while they were losing ground on all three fronts, at least there was no wholesale flight, which would have spelled the end for the Yorkists. But ground was still being lost and soon they would have their backs to the slope of the ridge.

  Running out of room to maneuver, Samuel could feel the desperation of those around him. He had run out of arrows and could find no others, and he looked desperately for anything to use as a weapon. He saw to his right a battle-ax that
was still held by a dead soldier and ran to take it as a Lancastrian spotted him and moved to attack. The dead man’s clutch on the ax was still strong, surprising Samuel as he pried the dead talons from the haft. He freed it just in time to deflect a deadly blow from the blade of the Lancastrian, but the force knocked him to the ground. In that position, he would not have been able to protect himself from the next strike, but instead of delivering the expected death stroke, the Lancastrian collapsed to the ground next to him, the left side of his skull missing. A man whom he judged to be even younger than himself took Samuel’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

  “Come on,” he yelled, “there’s a place over here where we can rest.” Samuel gratefully followed him to a tree away from the battle line, where they both collapsed. “Sir Julian taught me to take a quick rest whenever the opportunity lends itself. My name is Stanley. You’re the new recruit, aren’t you?”

  “Samuel,” he nodded in affirmation. “You saved my life.”

  “We are in the king’s guard together. It’s our duty to look after each other,” responded Stanley between deep breaths. “But we can’t stay long. It doesn’t look as if things are going well for the king.”

  The battle continued to rage in the driving snow, which had already covered the thousands of dead in the field with a white sheet. There was very little room left between the Yorkist army and the slope of the plateau, below which ran the River Cock, and it was only Edward’s valiant leadership that kept his ranks in order.

  “I see Sir Julian,” Samuel pointed to where their captain was swinging his sword with abandon, accompanied by other members of the guard. Samuel felt shame that he was resting through the battle. “I’m going to help him,” he said, getting to his feet slowly, disappointed that his muscles were so slow to respond.

  “We’ll go together,” Stanley said. “We can watch each other’s back.”