by Nigel Green
‘He deserves it.’
Martin Swartz shrugged modestly and Haldi spoke again.
‘He says Maximilian wished to reward you, but does not know how it should be done.’
They both looked at me expectantly; I declined their offer. The German officers had allocated more than sufficient rations for the two- or three-day march to Calais. The men had apparently done well for themselves after the battle and we had no wounded from the men we had brought from England.
‘I did not come here for reward. I came because it would help a friend of mine and his wife.’
Swartz smiled and then said something slowly. Haldi turned to me.
‘He says he’s not sure if you are a very good soldier or a very lucky one, but he has enjoyed fighting with you and wishes you well.’
We clasped hands; it was time to prepare to depart for Calais and then on to England. It would be good to see Nan and be able to hold a conversation with someone without every other sentence starting with the words, ‘he says’.
CHAPTER 10
I returned to the West March and slipped back happily into my former role. Working closely with Broughton and Dick Middleton, I gradually increased the strength of the Carlisle horse until we had sufficient numbers to mount two simultaneous raids into Scotland.
I briefed Ratcliffe on this when, after a lengthy absence, he came to Carlisle. I was surprised to find that he listened attentively and asked a number of perceptive questions. Not wishing to overdo the news of our success, I tried to steer the talk to other matters, but uncharacteristically Ratcliffe did not want to discuss politics. Instead he brought the conversation back to the attacks on Scotland that I was planning.
‘Richard of Gloucester will wish to lead the next raids,’ he said after a while.
‘Of course and I will be there to assist him,’ I reassured him.
He gave me a sharp look, but made no comment. Instead, he jumped up and started to pace round the room, carefully avoiding the chests and various items of armour that cluttered it. Watching his narrowed eyes and frowning face, I guessed that he was deliberating with himself about something.
I poured more wine and waited until he was ready. Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, as his head jerked up and he looked me straight in the eye.
‘Richard of Gloucester, whom we both serve, is of course not yet well known in the West March,’ he began. ‘Admittedly, it is through your efforts that men here acknowledge him as their overlord, but he is not yet seen as their leader. You will have to do far more if we are to get people to accept Richard as their leader in all parts of the North.’
He shot me a keen glance.
‘Particularly in the West March.’
I returned his glance blankly. All my subordinates here already knew that I was accountable to Richard of Gloucester and reported to him. What on earth was Ratcliffe talking about?
‘Well, yes?’
Ratcliffe shifted his stance uneasily.
‘So what do we – and you especially – need to do to ensure that he is viewed as the leader in the West March?’
Still I did not understand.
‘But that’s your job!’ I protested. ‘You spend all your time thinking about things like that. Why do you need my views when you probably already know the answer?’
Ratcliffe picked up his gauntlets and looked down at me pityingly.
‘I have worked it out,’ he said sadly. ‘But the problem I have on this occasion is that it cannot be me who provides that answer; it has to be you. Now, I will leave you for a while and when I come back I want you to give me the answer.’
His words made no sense and I told him so.
‘They will in a while, Francis,’ he said gently, ‘and believe me, I am truly sorry.’
And then he was gone.
It took time for the tears to dry. Indeed, it was curious just how long after Ratcliffe had departed that water still swam in my eyes. At least by now, I was over the worst of the shock.
When eventually I divined what Ratcliffe was talking about, I had found it impossible to accept. The proposal that I should stand down and leave the West March was both incredible and totally unfair. I raged against the ridiculousness of the notion. Dear God, I had built up this rundown backwater of a march, hadn’t I? Was it not I who had financed much of its defences and paid for its troops? Who had then destroyed the Debateable Land and taken the war into Scotland? And, in return for this, I was supposed to step down so that Richard of Gloucester would be perceived as the only leader when he arrived. I was being sacrificed for his ambition! It was wrong for the region and blatantly unjust to me. Surely there must be a way in which both Richard and I could be accommodated here. I seized a pen and, summoning up every ounce of imagination and ingenuity I possessed, covered sheet after sheet with different structures and hierarchies, until at last I threw down the pen and faced up to the inevitable. While I remained in the West March, there was absolutely no chance of men here viewing Richard as their leader. Were I to stay, he would be seen as their ducal overlord and titular head, but no more than that.
For a split second I wondered whether I might be exaggerating my own importance, but with brutal honesty I put the thought aside. Richard was not known here and I had been in the West March a long time. If I were to stay, the entire officer cadre here would instinctively look to me, not him, for direction. With the mutual bonds of friendship and shared experiences that bound us all so closely together, it would be hard for them to do otherwise.
Ratcliffe had been right on another point too, I realised. I had to instigate my own departure. After all, there were no obvious grounds to remove me from my post. Indeed, such a move would be counterproductive as there was the strong possibility that such an action would provoke antipathy here towards my successor. While grudgingly I could see the logic of leaving, what truly angered me was the manner in which it was being done. It was bad enough to be ruthlessly cast aside to further Richard of Gloucester’s ambitions, but to hear about it second-hand was intolerable.
I seethed as I brooded on it. Richard had not even had the courage to tell me himself! My so-called friend had sent Ratcliffe to do his dirty work for him.
There was a tap at the door and Gloucester’s executioner stepped in.
‘Well?’ Ratcliffe asked.
‘I’m not resigning!’ I said defiantly. ‘After everything I have done for Gloucester, what he is proposing is blatantly unfair!’
I glowered at him.
‘And in view of our friendship, frankly I would have expected you to have refused to be his errand boy on this occasion.’
‘You believe this to be Gloucester’s idea?’ Ratcliffe asked incredulously.
‘No. It would have to have come from Anne Neville!’
‘But Francis…’
‘And there’s another thing too!’ I exploded. ‘They didn’t even have the guts to tell me to my face!’
Ratcliffe’s mouth tightened and he gestured to me to sit down. He poured wine and slid the glass over the table towards me. I waved it away.
‘Drink it!’ he barked and there was a steely edge to his voice.
I obeyed him as he watched me through narrowed eyes.
‘In your position, I might have reacted in the same way,’ he said tersely. ‘So to make you see sense, I am going to tell you something that you will never repeat. Is that clear?’
I shrugged indifferently.
He smacked the table forcefully with his hand.
‘I said, is that clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now Lovell, understand first that neither Richard of Gloucester nor his wife know anything about my mission here.’
I hooted in derision.
‘I don’t believe you!’
His grey eyes met mine.
‘Do you want to come to the cathedral with me and listen while I swear an oath to that effect in front of the high altar?’ he demanded. ‘Anyway, surely you know me well eno
ugh to know I would never lie to you.’
Ratcliffe had always spoken the truth, I reflected.
‘So whose idea was it then?’
‘Mine.’
I reeled in shock.
‘Yours?’
He smiled thinly at my surprise.
‘Yes mine, old friend. Tell me, what do you know about my job?’
Ratcliffe spent his time building up Richard of Gloucester’s reputation and I told him so. He nodded.
‘That’s reasonably well known. But there’s another part to it which no one knows about, and it’s a bit more complicated. You see, Francis, the way I see it, it is not enough to help Richard by building him up; I need to smooth his path for him.’
Despite myself, I was fascinated.
‘How do you do that?’
He looked at me evenly.
‘I anticipate that there will be obstacles in his way, and they need to be removed before they obstruct him. My methods vary according to the circumstances, of course. Sometimes it’s fairly simple, at other times it can be more complex.’
He spread his hands as he spoke and I had no doubt that he was telling the truth. For an instant, I had a glimpse of the murky world in which he operated, for his ambition was such that, in the service of Richard of Gloucester, Ratcliffe would be completely ruthless.
‘I’ve been watching you for some time now, Francis,’ he murmured. ‘If you had been less successful, I would not have needed to have this conversation with you. But, against the odds, you have done well, and when you started raiding in Scotland – well, I knew it was time to step in.’
He smiled sadly.
‘You have become too big in these parts, Francis. If Gloucester came here now, you would eclipse him and you know it. So given that both of us want him to succeed here and elsewhere, by my reckoning, it is time for you to step down.’
‘And if I refuse?’
He looked at me in surprise.
‘With anyone else I would take drastic action, but I would do nothing to harm you.’
He stood up and put his hands on his hips.
‘But what I would say, were you to refuse, is that you would be behaving very badly towards the man who entrusted you with the West March in the first place and you would be putting your own interests in front of his. Is that how you choose to serve him?’ He stared at me. ‘Are you really that selfish, Francis?’
His tone was reasonable and there was no hint of menace in his voice. As I looked at him, I realised that the talk must have been as uncomfortable for him as it had been for me. In all honesty too, everything he said was correct. The best way I could serve Richard was by not serving him here.
‘So what reason do I give Richard for resigning?’ I enquired slowly.
‘You tell him that you have been in his service for a number of years and that you wish to spend some time with your wife on your estates,’ Ratcliffe replied. ‘Naturally Gloucester will be surprised and probably a bit upset, but given that you will be helping him, that doesn’t really matter, does it?’
Richard’s arrival in the West March was highly successful; he was precisely what the people there wanted. He came not as a high and mighty duke and brother to the king, but as a plain and honest soldier. He did not charm with idle flattery, but rather he sought advice and counsel. He gave few commands, seemingly content to listen. Above all for a region plagued by Skiam and the Scots, he arrived as a general.
Quietly and methodically he won people over. During our tour of the Debateable Land, he sent his own escort back to Yorkshire, saying that the Carlisle horse was all the protection he would need. Dick Middleton was elevated to the ducal council to advise them of the best ways of using light horsemen.
Sir Christopher Moresby was delighted to hear that not only were the remaining repairs to the castle to be carried out immediately, but the duke was proposing to oversee the work programme himself.
Broughton and I took Richard to visit some of the larger landowners; others were entertained in Carlisle and they all took to him quickly. Indeed, Edward Franke advised me that so great an impression was made by Richard that most of them not only wrote off his debts to them but offered yet more financial aid.
At last the time arrived when I knew that I could do no more to assist Richard and told him that I would depart in two days’ time. His face immediately fell.
‘But I have been comforted by your presence!’ he complained. ‘I wish you would reconsider your decision.’
I smiled down at him.
‘I have been apart from my wife for too long,’ I said with complete honesty. ‘But when you have need of me again, send for me, and you know that I will come.’
My words seemed to cheer him.
‘I know you will and I thank you – but Francis, delay your departure for one week more. There is something I wish to arrange.’
Broughton gestured towards the dark bulk of Carlisle’s main gatehouse lay.
‘It will be completely dark soon,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’
I swallowed nervously.
‘Not yet.’
He grinned at me and in the gloom his teeth glowed whitely.
‘That’s all right, Francis. And remember – I’m right behind you at all times.’
I smiled back gratefully. In truth, Broughton had proved an invaluable source of comfort over the past twenty-four hours. What exactly I faced, I did not know, except that at some point I would be formally made a knight. Normally the ritual can be carried out fairly quickly, but Richard delighted in chivalry and, accordingly, I had been instructed to participate in the entire ritual: the nightly vigil in the cathedral, the ceremonial bathing and the priest hearing my confession. These things I had all duly carried out, but now, as I stood outside the walls of Carlisle in my symbolic white tunic and red robe, I wondered nervously what was to come next.
Three torches suddenly illuminated the battlements, and I heard a creaking sound as the massive gates swung open. Broughton nudged me in the right direction.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘and remember to just keep moving forward towards the castle.’
I stepped out into the city and was momentarily dazzled by a mass of torches. I stopped and looked down the length of English Street. On either side of the road, dismounted troops stood with lances lowered, blocking my passage.
‘Move!’ hissed Broughton.
Trusting him, I advanced through the lances in front of me, which were raised to the upright position, their silver points glinting as they rippled upwards. I glanced at the soldiers as I moved between them; there were no smiles, nor did any man call out. In stern silence, the men of the Carlisle horse made their farewells with this final spear salute. Followed by Broughton, I passed slowly between them and was nearing the cathedral when the drum started. In the silence, its noise was magnified and its sound, though commonplace, added to the unreality of the occasion. The measured beat seemed to urge me on to where Moresby stood with his picked band of archers ready to escort me into the castle.
The courtyard was a sea of light, the fiery brands illuminating the burnished armour of the soldiers. Propelled on by the relentless booming of the drum, I walked slowly through the massed ranks of infantry towards a raised platform where I guessed Richard would be. There was total silence as I reached the dais and solemnly climbed up the steps. Then, without realising, I found myself on my knees in front of him. A moment later, I felt the top of his sword touch first one shoulder then the other.
‘Arise, Sir Francis,’ Richard of Gloucester ordered, ‘and receive the tokens of your knighthood.’
He gestured to Broughton and Moresby, who now mounted the dais to proffer me my spurs, but he raised his hand when Dick Middleton reached to where my sword lay.
‘I will attend to that,’ he said quietly.
Removing his gauntlets, he girded my sword on. I turned to thank him, but at that moment, the trumpeters who Moresby had placed on the battlements all blew together and their cla
ngour drowned out my words.
I waited for them to finish, but even as the last note died away, the cheering in the courtyard started. I believed that it would soon die away and stared at the ground in embarrassment, but instead the noise seemed to swell, and I realised in horror that the troops who had been on duty on the streets outside had now entered the courtyard.
Richard of Gloucester gently pushed me forward to face the men.
‘You should acknowledge your men’s acclaim,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s not fitting with you present…’
‘Do it, Francis!’ he commanded firmly.
Even as I made the final salute to my – no, his – men, my heart went out to the little man who stood deferentially behind me. He had planned the whole ceremony. He would have known that the focus of the whole evening would have been on me, but he was prepared to walk in my shadow, so that I could have this moment of glory.
I turned to him.
‘How can I thank you for all this?’
He grinned up at me.
‘Promise me that you will return when I call for you.’
‘But I would have done that anyway, without all this!’ I protested.
His eyes twinkled.
‘I know that, and I am grateful for your loyalty. But I owe you this evening not only for past services, but also for a more recent one.’
‘It’s just guesswork on my wife’s part,’ Richard continued, ‘but if you have sacrificed something for me, should I not sacrifice something for you?’
He clapped me on the shoulder with a laugh.
‘No, don’t answer me; just come back when I need you.’
I gazed blankly across the teeming mass of cheering soldiers in the courtyard for a while. I was to go away from Richard, yet I had never felt so close to him than at this very moment.
PART 2 :
1482 – 1485
“Ratcliffe, Lovell and Catesby the Devil
Ruleth all England under Anne Neville”
CHAPTER 11
Across the river the Scottish patrol threaded their horses through the snow-covered trees. They moved slowly with spears aloft until they reached the shore. But even as the riders dismounted to water their beasts, their leader spurred his horse into the shallows and arrogantly inspected our camp.