by Nigel Green
I met Ratcliffe’s gaze.
‘I’ve been very lucky.’
He gave a hoot of laughter and punched me lightly on the arm.
‘You’re set for life!’ He grinned, but then his face fell. ‘If I’m to get anywhere in life, I need a good and generous lord to serve and a good marriage too.’
He looked down at the table.
‘I know I can succeed if I get the right chance,’ he said wistfully.
Considering his intellectual abilities, there was no doubt that Richard Ratcliffe would be an asset to anyone once he had completed his training.
‘I’m sure you will,’ I reassured him.
As our military studies continued our friendship deepened, but our interests diverged. While I remained fascinated by all aspects of soldiering, increasingly I sensed that Ratcliffe wanted more. Politics rather than warfare attracted him. Such was his interest that he pounced on every piece of news and gossip and dissected it meticulously. Then he passed the news on to me with his own analysis of what would happen next. As a friend I feigned interest in his speculations, but usually my mind strayed as he talked. For all that I will never forget what Ratcliffe told me the day I returned from the Scottish borders. He had sought me out directly.
‘Have you heard the news?’
‘Dick Middleton and I have spent the last two months with the light horse on the border,’ I laughingly protested. ‘Men up there are more concerned with the Scots than politics.’
Ratcliffe waved away my excuse. To him the danger from the Scots was irrelevant. What really mattered were the actions of the great men of the world.
‘The world has been turned upside down.’
‘Again?’ Ratcliffe’s political world was always being upended.
His grey eyes met mine.
‘This is serious Francis,’ he corrected me sternly, ‘because it affects both my Lords of Warwick and Montague.’
That got my attention instantly.
‘Tell me your story,’ I begged him.
According to Ratcliffe the current situation had been caused by problems in the past and so, to make better sense of it, he elected to start his tale during the times of the wars between the rival houses of York and Lancaster. I listened spellbound as first one side and then the other gained the ascendancy until the issue was decided once and for all at Towton.1
With the Lancastrians defeated and their King Henry VI ultimately imprisoned, the Yorkist leader had been crowned King Edward IV. England was at last peaceful. Discord lurked below the blanket of peace which shrouded the country though, as before too long King Edward and his greatest magnate, the Earl of Warwick, had fallen out. There had been talk of that when I was in the earl’s household at Middleham, I recalled. Men said that King Edward did not pay heed to the earl’s advice; others claimed that the king had not rewarded my Lord of Warwick sufficiently.
But if my lord’s followers differed in their views on these points, on one issue they were unanimous; King Edward’s new queen, Elizabeth Woodville, was wholly detrimental to the interests of my Lord of Warwick. For not only was the new queen wholly unappreciative of my lord of Warwick’s substantial part in elevating Edward to kingship, she additionally brought to her marriage a great crowd of greedy relations, all of whom required rich marriages and lucrative posts. Swiftly the queen and her attendant Woodville family became a force in the land. Gradually my Lord of Warwick had found his influence with King Edward declining, Ratcliffe continued, and eventually he had risen in rebellion preferring to install King Edward’s brother, the Duke of Clarence as king in Edward’s place.
‘Warwick married his eldest daughter to Clarence,’ I recalled.
‘She would have been queen,’ agreed Ratcliffe, ‘but in light of what has happened now, I don’t suppose that matters now.’
‘But what has happened?’
Ratcliffe leant forward confidentially.
‘You remember that Warwick’s first rebellion did not succeed?’
‘Yes, no one else wanted Clarence as king. Warwick and Clarence fled to France.’
Ratcliffe grunted.
‘But Warwick is not defeated – in fact far from it. He recognises that Clarence is seen as a poor substitute for King Edward, but he is still determined to overthrow King Edward and his Woodville wife.’
‘Well, I can understand him hating Elizabeth Woodville and her family; after all, they cost him his power and influence.’
I defended my former lord and kinsman.
‘Possibly, but listen to this Francis. Warwick is so determined to overthrow King Edward that he has transferred his allegiance from the House of York.’
‘What?’
‘And he is now planning to restore the previous Lancastrian King Henry VI to the throne.’
Amazing though the speculation was, it was speedily proved to be correct. My Lord of Warwick invaded England and with the help of his brother, the Marquis of Montague, chased King Edward out of England. The Lancastrian King Henry was reinstated, and Warwick and the Lancastrians were victorious.
With my Lord of Warwick’s victory I assumed that the matter would end there, but a few months later Ratcliffe sidled up to me.
‘I happened to be passing my lord’s chamber the other day,’ he murmured, ‘and I overheard him say two things…’
‘I bet you slowed your pace down to that of a snail.’
He flushed, but continued regardless.
‘The news is that the Yorkist King Edward is planning to invade soon. He wants his crown back.’
I thought quickly. Presumably my Lord Montague and his brother Warwick with their Lancastrian allies would oppose Edward of York’s attempt to regain his crown. The forthcoming battle would decide once and for all whether Lancaster or York would rule England.
Ratcliffe cocked his head and grinned at me.
‘Do you want to hear the second thing this little snail overheard his lord say? Apparently the Marquis Montague intends to take you to war with him as his squire.’
CHAPTER 2
In warfare, the duties of a squire are both simple and numerous. In theory, you simply need to ensure that your lord has what he wants when he wants it. In practice, you have to second-guess his every need, whether for food, wine or weaponry. You have to take his messages when they are too important to be entrusted to others. You need to anticipate his need for a spare mount, and in battle you must protect your lord without getting in his way. If the duties are varied, there is one rule that can never be broken – you must not leave your lord, unless he commands you to.
Thus it was that I had been in constant attendance on Marquis Montague from the time our contingent had arrived in Coventry. Neatly avoiding the forces of the invading King Edward, my lord entered the town to be reunited with his brother, the Earl of Warwick. For a while, the two spoke privately, but later Montague summoned his captains.
‘The situation is as follows,’ he told them abruptly. ‘Currently our numbers and those of the enemy are broadly equal. This is because King Edward’s army has been reinforced by the force led by his brother, Clarence.’
There were groans at Clarence’s treachery and duplicity. He had already proved a traitor to his brother, Edward, by allying with Warwick against him. Now he was betraying his father-in-law, Warwick to ally with his brother, King Edward.
‘However,’ continued my lord, ‘the remainder of our army, namely the contingents led by our Lancastrian allies – the Earl of Oxford and the Duke of Exeter – will shortly join us. Once our forces have converged, we will easily outnumber the enemy. Aware of this, King Edward has moved south to London, desperately trying to win support there. We will follow him south once we are fully assembled.’
‘And your plan, my lord?’
The Marquis smiled grimly.
‘King Edward cannot remain in London indefinitely. He must emerge from his hole. When he does so, I will grind him underfoot, as you would a snake.’
A few days later we w
ere encamped a few miles north of London close to a village called Barnet. I was working on the scroll for my lord, when I received his curt summons; I was to attend him at a meeting in his brother’s tent. Rolling my scroll up carefully, I followed the page.
The Earl of Warwick’s striped tent was not only larger but much better furnished than is customary on a campaign. Tapestries hung round its sides, while chairs encircled an unusual black-and-white patterned table in the centre.
A moment later, a short heavily perspiring noble pushed his way through the guards and, without acknowledging the others, sat down with a grunt and helped himself to one of the silver goblets of wine. Shortly after, a tall grey-haired man entered and bowed briefly to the other three. At a signal from the Earl of Warwick, the two guards inside the tent moved outside and the flap was closed.
The Earl of Warwick was the first to break the silence.
‘Our scouts advise that King Edward’s army is less than a day’s march from here. Accordingly the purpose of this meeting is to discuss how we shall defeat it.’
He looked at his brother.
‘I propose that the Marquis Montague takes overall charge of our forces. Do you agree?’
There were murmurs of assent; Montague was the best soldier among them and they knew it. My lord raised his hand and, moving forward, I passed him the scroll that I had been clutching. In anticipation of being declared the army’s general, my lord had already devised his battle plan and ordered me to commit it to parchment. Montague spread the scroll on the table. The other three eyed it curiously. He gestured to the drawing.
‘I have, of course, inspected the likely battleground and will explain my plan in a moment. But first we need to verify that our own force outnumbers the king’s army.’
‘How many men do you command, John?’ He looked at the short sweating noble, who must have been John de Vere, Earl of Oxford and dedicated Lancastrian. Oxford looked at his former enemy suspiciously. Circumstances might have made it necessary for him to ally with the Earl of Warwick and Marquis Montague, but it was obvious that he found it both unnatural and distasteful. The Marquis Montague held his gaze steadily and, a moment later, Oxford came to a decision.
‘That’s what I was doing before I was summoned here,’ he said tightly. ‘My captains assess our number to be about 2,500.’ He must have sensed the air of disappointment at the paucity of his numbers. ‘I am not as wealthy as some earls; I have brought all that I could to crush the House of York.’
Ever the diplomat, the Earl of Warwick was quick to smooth over trouble. He thanked Oxford and turned to the older noble.
‘My lord duke?’ he enquired politely.
Henry Howard, Duke of Exeter, another committed Lancastrian, looked at him impassively.
‘3,000.’
Montague glanced round the table.
‘That puts our force at 15,000 – we outnumber Edward of York.’ He gestured to the parchment again. ‘This is a simple diagram of my proposed order of battle. Our army will straddle the road that connects London and St Albans up which Edward has advanced. To our left, the ground falls away, making our flank more defensible. On our right flank, and for much of the centre, a thick hedge provides some protection.’
The others nodded; in countryside devoid of natural defensive positions, the Marquis had probably chosen the best battle site.
‘I would like you, my lord duke, to hold our left flank and you, my Lord of Oxford, to command our right,’ continued the Marquis. ‘I myself will take the centre and my brother will support us with the reserves.’
The Earl of Warwick spoke up.
‘Edward’s captains are not as experienced as you,’ he said. ‘We expect Edward of York to hold the centre.’ He jabbed the diagram to illustrate the block of men facing those of the Marquis Montague. ‘He is likely to put his younger brother, Richard of Gloucester, to face you, my lord duke.’
The Duke of Exeter glanced at the plan on the table.
‘From what I hear, Gloucester has never fought a battle. I imagine I will be able to hold my position against an inexperienced youth fighting uphill.’
‘On his left flank, Edward will probably put Lord Hastings to face you, John,’ continued Warwick. ‘Now let’s hear my brother’s plan.’
My lord put down his wine and gestured at the parchment.
‘It’s simple,’ he said. ‘We will use our numerical superiority to strengthen our right flank so that you, my Lord of Oxford, vastly outnumber Lord Hastings. You will defeat him quickly while the Duke of Exeter and I hold our positions. Once you have beaten him, you swing round to your left and attack King Edward’s flank.’
He paused and looked at the others, while they stared at the diagram intently.
‘At this point,’ the Marquis continued, ‘King Edward will have you, my Lord of Oxford, attacking him from the side, while I push forward from the centre. We will advance all our reserves and the Yorkists will be crushed.’
There was silence round the table as my Lords of Exeter and Oxford absorbed the plan and glanced at each other. I could sense their unease – plainly the battle plan looked to be a good one, but could they really trust their former enemies not to double cross them?
The Duke of Exeter looked at my Lord of Warwick.
‘Ten years ago you and I fought against each other at Towton, my lord,’ he said softly. ‘How do I know that I can trust you and your brother today?’
The Earl of Warwick flushed.
‘I have sworn an oath to put King Henry back on his rightful throne.’
The duke nodded thoughtfully.
‘Then God help you if you break it,’ he said grimly. ‘Now, my lords, despite our respective loyalties in the past, we find ourselves in a situation where not only do we have to trust each other, but additionally we must display that faith to our men. As such, I suggest that we and our captains should all fight on foot, leaving our horses in the camp. That will demonstrate to our men that we are all resolved to fight and die next to each other.’
Montague and Warwick stared back at him. It was common practice for knights to ride into battle and fight on foot, but their horses were usually kept close at hand to facilitate flight, if defeat seemed likely. While the duke’s suggestion would undoubtedly make a positive impact on our troops, unless our side secured victory it would be unlikely that any of our leaders would be able to return to camp. It was an effective death sentence for them. My Lord Montague looked at his brother who nodded as if the matter was of no importance. The Marquis Montague’s face hardened.
‘We agree,’ he said grimly.
By the next morning, I was profoundly frightened. The little sleep I had managed had been frequently interrupted by the sounds of Warwick’s cannons booming away. Tiredness added to my fears, and I fumbled badly as, by the light of flickering candles, I helped my lord on with his armour.
He must have realised how I felt, as he gave me countless tasks to keep my mind busy. I was dispatched to see whether the Duke of Exeter’s men had moved into their appointed positions. Then I had to check that Oxford’s force was placed behind the thick hedge. I blundered around in the darkness and mist getting helplessly lost but eventually returned to camp to find men milling about aimlessly. The confusion did not worry me; my lord had warned me about this when he had talked to me last night.
‘King Edward’s men are close at hand, Francis. Now, given that they will suspect that we outnumber them, what tactics do you think they will employ?’
I did not know. He shook his head in mock reproof and smiled at me.
‘And after all my teaching too! What King Edward will do is to use the element of surprise; he’ll attack before daybreak and try to catch us unaware. Accordingly, I have given instructions that all troops are to be up and in position long before the sun rises so Edward’s plan won’t work. But never forget to use the element of surprise, Francis.’
I shook my head in admiration at my lord’s kindness as I reentered the teeming
camp. On the eve of a major battle, not only had he found time to add to my learning, but he had the forethought to explain what I would see. It was down to him that I understood that what seemed like confusion was, in reality, men mustering under their captains by the light of spluttering torches prior to advancing to their battle stations.
I found my lord and followed him and his men through the dark woods until we came to the place where he had ordered marker stakes to be placed in the ground. There were frequent cries of ‘close up’ and gradually the mass of soldiers were driven into some form of order. Around my lord and myself, I glimpsed the reassuringly large shapes of his personal bodyguards. They were armed with halberds – eight-foot spears with an axe blade on one side and a vicious spike on the other. Behind us a dozen lightly armoured horsemen, all bearing Montague’s griffin emblem, waited to carry his instructions.
There was the sound of shouts ahead of us and I heard the answering roar of insults from our men. A moment later, some unseen force threw us back a few paces and, ahead of us, I heard the clashing of weapons. For a few moments, we were carried forward and back. One of the tall bodyguards caught my eye.