by Clint Dohmen
Lord Strange sat astride a horse given to him by Richard, surrounded by two noblemen loyal to Richard and their retainers. God, help me, he thought as the rider approached. The messenger did not look at Lord Strange as he reined in and spoke with the noblemen.
“The king orders you to behead Lord Strange. Then take the head to Lord Stanley,” the messenger said before abruptly riding off.
It was as he suspected, but he thought he had one more play. Lord Strange looked hard at his captors and spoke forcefully. “My head isn’t going anywhere.” He paused. “It will be here half an hour from now, and it will be here two hours from now. If you remove it—and clearly you’ve been ordered to do so because the battle goes poorly for the king—and the king loses, you will have all forfeit your heads.”
“We don’t need...”
“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Lord Strange quickly interrupted, “no one in England controls a personal army larger than my family. They will doubtless revenge themselves upon you.” He looked around with an air of confidence. “I’m not trying to scare you, I’m simply pointing to the most logical path. If Richard wins, you can remove my head at any time, and you will have fulfilled your orders. He will not know at what time you removed it, so there is no harm in waiting.” Lord Strange watched the nobles conversing, and after a minute he got one statement out of them.
“We will wait,” his captor said with a wicked sneer, “for as you say, we can remove your head at any time.”
King Richard’s lines
As King Richard rode forward into battle with his men, he saw something curious. “That’s Henry’s standard, is it not?” He pointed to a small group of men west of the swamp, well south of the Tudor lines.
Sir Percival Thirwell, the royal standard-bearer, had vision almost as sharp as the king’s.
“It is indeed, Majesty, and there can’t be more than twenty men with him.”
“The treacherous bastard is headed for William Stanley to plead for his support,” Sir Robert Brackenbury guessed.
“And if he gets it?” the king replied.
“Well, it could make this a close fight. Especially since you’ve had Lord Strange’s head cut off, making it likely Lord Stanley will join his brother,” Brackenbury answered honestly.
“He’s practically alone. This foolishness can end right now if I can get to him. Is there any way across that swamp without being seen?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Brackenbury answered. “There is a sandy but solid path across the marsh. The only thing is, it will leave us dangerously exposed to the Stanleys if they decide to join the fight.”
“Ifs and buts, Sir Robert. I would give my left testicle for a battle with no ifs and buts. Kindly arrange one of those for me next time. Meanwhile, I plan to teach this usurper how a king does battle.” Richard looked at his closest knights. “Bring your retainers; we ride.”
“Yes, Majesty,” they answered without question. Most of them had done battle with their king before, and they knew there wasn’t a braver or more skillful knight on the battlefield.
“Bring me my crown. Every man on this field must know that if they fight against me, they attack the rightful King of England.”
0940
West of the swamp
King Henry’s retinue
Henry’s party walked their horses carefully over the soft, uneven ground. It was John Cheyne, with his incredible height, who first saw the banner, but by the time he saw it, it was too late. Somehow, King Richard had managed to cross the swamp and cut off their route to the Stanleys.
“Brave Englishmen, fight with me now, and your loyalty will be rewarded!” King Richard cried out as two hundred and thirty of his bravest knights spread out to form a line of charge; lance tips gleaming as the early morning sun burned through the cloud cover.
“For God, your King, and St. George!” Richard yelled as he kicked his horse forward.
“For God, King Richard, and St. George!” came the response as visors were dropped into place, lances leveled, and horses spurred forward.
After spotting King Richard and his men, Jasper Tudor, riding with his nephew, reacted quickly. “Messenger, get to the pikemen at the bridge and bring them here immediately. Henry, get to the rear. Prepare to receive the charge!”
King Richard’s lance struck home, piercing the breastplate of William Brandon, who had moved his horse to shield Henry at the last moment. William fell off his horse dead, but he succeeded in saving Henry’s life and in breaking Richard’s lance.
As John Cheyne maneuvered his horse forward to take William Brandon’s place and shield his king, Richard brought the broken end of his lance about in a vicious roundhouse swing that connected squarely on the giant man’s jaw, knocking him off his horse, unconscious.
Seeing his two best knights fall to Richard’s lance within seconds had Henry unnerved. He looked behind him, then over towards the right flank of his lines. He considered making a run for it, but he steeled his nerves. If he ran now, his men would be slaughtered. He would win or die right here. And seconds later, he no longer had the option. Richard’s men had his small party surrounded.
0950
The Roman Bridge Across the Marsh
Dai Evans had been unhappy with his company’s assignment, but he had a sharp mind and could see the point in it. He did not know that the idea for their posting had come from a warrior who hailed from the other side of the world.
Lord Fellowes, in an attempt to keep morale up, had shared the purpose of their mission with the men. His levy had been assigned to hold the bridge on the Roman road. The Fellowes levy being made up almost entirely of pikemen meant that, although they numbered barely more than a hundred, they could hold the bridge against ten times their number while they waited for reinforcements. Lord Fellowes had also told them that the Earl of Northumberland was on King Richard’s distant left flank, and they were needed at the bridge to secure against a possible flanking maneuver from him.
Nonetheless, Dai groused with Howel about their bad luck in being removed from all the action. “From the sound of it, it’s a fight that will go down in history, and we’ll have to tell our grandchildren that we guarded a bridge.”
“Oh, you can be sure I won’t tell my grandchildren that. I’ll be telling my grandchildren that I killed King Richard myself. You can tell yours what you like.”
Dai was about to respond when a herald wearing Henry’s livery was spotted riding towards them like the devil himself was giving chase. The herald reined in next to Lord Fellowes, spoke a few words, and immediately afterwards Lord Fellowes barked at his men. “If we don’t move swiftly, Henry will fall, and we’ll all have our heads on the chopping block. Now follow me, you bastards!”
Dai and Howel shouldered their twelve-foot-long pikes and ran after Lord Fellowes. The tough Welsh villagers in oak tree livery were the only men close to Henry and his dwindling bodyguard.
Chapter 44
Left flank of Duke Oxford’s Vanguard
The Lancastrian Column
RICHARD’S FOOT SOLDIERS were being held on Lord Oxford’s front by the Scottish Guard and valiant Lancastrians. Richard’s cavalry press on the left, however, was starting to turn the tide for the king.
Simon could see that Henry’s allied cavalry was diminished to the point that they would soon be ineffectual. He could also see that despite their success in defeating Norfolk’s vanguard, the main body of Richard’s army far outnumbered them. If their flank fell, it would be a massacre.
“Kojiro, Neno, go to the horses!”
“Hai,” Kojiro answered quickly, recognizing just as Simon did that the cavalry holding their flank would soon be beaten.
“No,” Neno answered, not wanting to disobey his employer, but also not desiring to die on the back of an untrustworthy animal. “I will follow you on foot.”
In a stressful situation, Simon had no ego. He recognized that Neno would likely be more useful on the ground than from horseback. “Okay, my m
ountainous friend, but make sure you run your ass off to keep up. And rally as many pikes as you can to come with you.”
Neno pulled Simon’s standard from the ground and roared like he was first mate on the deck of a ship again. All the Lancastrians left standing who held pikes, halberds, spears, bills, poleaxes, and other long-shafted weapons came running to him. Simon sprinted towards his Andalusian.
This was it. If one more horse bearing a rider ran past him towards the sound of battle, Kuro was going to drag his boy into the fight. Then he saw him. His master in the dark black armor was running towards him. Kuro reared up onto his hind legs, ripping his bridle free of the startled groom’s grasp. As he pawed the air with his front legs, he let out a whinny so long and thunderous it more closely resembled a lion’s roar than any sound a horse ever made.
Just as his front feet found the earth again, his master was on his back, needlessly spurring him towards the fighting. The arrogant gray Andalusian stallion was trying to keep pace with him, but that was not going to happen. Kuro’s hooves churned the turf below him, sending clumps of moist black earth spewing like a geyser in his wake. Kuro saw that his master’s blades were level to the ground and pointed forward on either side of him. It wasn’t the lance he was used to, but it would do.
Simon wished to lead the charge himself, yet swift as his mount was, he could not keep up with the Japanese horse in the grips of demonic possession. As they reached the ragtag remnants of John Savage’s cavalry, Simon spied Savage’s standard, slowed briefly to lift his empty hand in salute, then drew his sword and continued in pursuit of the horse from hell.
John Savage had worked like a master throughout the morning, maneuvering his outnumbered cavalrymen to just the right positions at just the right times to stall the Yorkist flanking attempts. Now, as he prepared to receive what would probably be the attack that would end him, he watched the impetuous noble from Exeter gallop through his lines and on towards the enemy. More curious, however, was the black tempest he trailed after.
“Charge!” Savage howled at his exhausted men; and charge they did.
0950
South of the Marsh
Sir William Stanley’s hilltop position
“I hate to point out the obvious, my lord, but I don’t think Henry Tudor has long for this world,” one of William Stanley’s retainers said.
“Which, unfortunately, means I may not have much longer? Is that what you were going to mention next?” Sir William smiled at his old friend.
“If that’s how you choose to interpret it, my lord.”
From their high ground position south of the battle that would likely determine the course of English history, Sir William and his men watched the whole scene unfold. Richard’s charge had been magnificent; Henry’s small group was getting smaller by the second.
“Shall we join them?” Sir William asked.
“I believe that would be wise, my lord. Just one question: ahem, who are we joining?”
“Well, Northumberland has yet to show his face, and there’s no chance the rest of Richard’s army can reach him, so based on the precarious status of my head should Richard win, I’m going to say Henry. Pass the word, we attack the white boar.”
“Yes, my lord.” The retainer carefully picked a wrapped standard from between the two tied to his horse.
Sir William Stanley’s men were used to these last-minute decisions. That being the case, no small amount of money would change hands at the end of the day for correct and incorrect guesses in this contest. When the red dragon banner was hoisted aloft next to the Stanleys’ three-hart banner, there were both whoops and curses amongst the men.
1000
Dadlington Hill, Lord Stanley’s position
“My lord, look.”
Lord Stanley looked in the direction that his retainer pointed and saw that his younger brother’s army was on the move. “Prepare to move. Any word yet on who he’s attacking?”
“I think I make out a red dragon next to the family standard.”
“We’ll verify en route. Order the men forward and be prepared to unfurl Henry’s standard.”
“Yes, my lord.”
1000
The Lancastrian Left Flank
At a full gallop, Kojiro twirled both swords at his side, and as he reached the regrouping enemy cavalry, he struck blows at neck height to riders on both his left and right. One head fell off immediately, and the other knight’s head dropped to his shoulder, still clinging to the torso by ligaments and muscle.
Though all alone amongst enemy horses, Kuro could smell their fear of him. Eyes wide and nostrils flaring, Kuro built on that fear with another very unhorse-like roar. He moved as his master directed him, stomping whenever possible on the bodies that his master felled.
Then there was that damned gray horse again sidling in next to him. The gray horse’s master made a lot of bodies drop, too, and he knew they were on the ‘same side,’ but Kuro didn’t like the competition to be top horse.
What if my master wants the other horse? Kuro thought. As that thought took root, Kuro’s mind filled with an unstoppable rage. In spite of his training, Kuro reared up and lashed out with his front legs; with a resounding crash, one of his hooves unhorsed an armored knight and his second hoof battered the same knight’s horse.
Kojiro had known his mount was spirited, but still, that was no excuse for failing to obey his commands in combat. Kojiro rarely used his spurs with Kuro, but now he dug them hard into his sides to let him know that unexpected behavior was not acceptable. Sufficiently chastened, Kuro dropped back down to earth, where Kojiro sliced the arm off a Yorkist knight with an upward cut through his armpit.
As John Savage and his tired knights landed their charge, they slammed into an unprepared enemy who had thought them already defeated. Savage slashed his way forward to fight next to the exile from Exeter and the mysterious foreigner on the black horse from hell.
1010
West of the Swamp
Dai was nearly breathless by the time they came upon Richard and Henry. The sound of steel rang out from the center of the melee, but Henry was so outnumbered, most of Richard’s men were unoccupied.
They would change that. Without wasting the precious breath that he had little left of to begin with, Dai stopped thirty yards from the enemy and presented his pike. Howel moved in next to him, and in short order, a three-level hedgehog of pikes had been formed. At Lord Fellowes’ command, the hedgehog moved forward and engaged King Richard’s elite knights.
It was a fair fight until the knights dismounted. While on horseback, the knights couldn’t break through the wall of pikes to reach the lightly armored peasants, but once they dismounted, their superior martial training began to open holes in the pike wall. Dai watched his neighbors falling, and before long, Dai became hard-pressed to hold his ground, but hold he did.
Richard was annoyed by the Welsh pikes. They had given Henry a temporary reprieve as he was forced to redirect resources to meet the threat, but they were not Richard’s main concern.
He saw both the Stanleys coming off their hills and did not want to find out whose side they had chosen. With his most trusted knights next to him, he redoubled his efforts to break through the wall of bodyguards surrounding Henry. “You’re mine!” he screamed as he plunged his dagger through the opening in a bodyguard’s visor and lunged forward at Henry with his sword. Henry blocked Richard’s thrust and moved to attack his more experienced relative, but Thomas Brandon, who had seen his brother die at the point of Richard’s lance, stepped in front of him.
“I’ll kill you, Henry, you traitorous pig shite!” Richard screamed, but Thomas Brandon skillfully parried all of Richard’s strikes and pushed him back away from the would-be king. As ferociously as Richard fought, he could not break through Thomas Brandon’s guard. Then it was too late.
The Stanley brothers and their thousands of riders washed over Richard and Henry’s parties like a tidal wave. In a matter of minutes the
king’s retinue was reduced to none but his inner circle.
“Traitors! Traitors!” Sir Percival Thirwell, holding King Richard’s standard high, screamed as it quickly became apparent that the Stanleys were fighting for Henry.
“Take my horse and withdraw, Your Majesty,” Sir Robert Percy urged his childhood friend. “We are too far outnumbered.”
“The King of England does not withdraw from the battlefield. Go and save yourself.”
“I go nowhere, Majesty,” Sir Robert Percy answered as King Richard and his remaining knights moved to Sir Percival and Richard’s proud white boar standard.
Upon seeing Henry secure, Dai called to his neighbors. Once again they formed a wall of pikes and marched forward. Stanleys’ knights hurriedly cleared a path as the pikes pressed on towards the king.
Sir Percival Thirwell still stood, but barely. His helmet was battered, and blood dripped from openings in his armor. Next to him stood King Richard himself, surrounded but still fighting. All around Richard lay the bodies of his knights who had fought to the last. Sir Robert Brackenbury, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, and Sir Robert Percy all lay nearby, bodies cut to pieces. Then the pikes descended on them.
“Traitors and foreigners,” Thirwell managed to sputter out, coughing up blood with every syllable. Then, knocked over backwards by a pike, Thirwell was struck time and again from all sides, eventually falling to the ground legless, but still holding onto King Richard’s flag.
Dai reacted on instinct when he saw a sword fall towards Lord Fellowes. He didn’t stop to consider that the sword was held by the King of England, he just thrust forward in a well-practiced motion. The tip of his pike found an opening in Richard’s battered armor near the collarbone, and Dai Evans, peasant of Wales, skewered the King of England. Richard snarled and swung wildly with his sword, but Dai pushed forward and his pike thrust up and through the king’s skull.