by Nigel Green
‘And just how well do the Percies and Nevilles get on?’ Catesby asked pleasantly.
My smile faded abruptly. The Nevilles and the Percies had always been bitter rivals and loathed each other, but I was growing tired of his insinuations and allegations.
‘You’re absurd!’ I snapped. ‘Northumberland worked with Richard when they were in the North together. Why, he helped him become king.’
‘So did Buckingham! Francis, can’t you see that we must take nothing for granted. Not everyone has your honest stupidity and plodding loyalty. Recognise that Northumberland might possibly be regretting giving his support to our naive king.’
His green eyes flashed angrily.
‘God knows, I’ve told him about this enough times, but he just maintains that Northumberland is completely trustworthy. Will you tell him as much? It might eventually get through to him.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you either!’ I told him flatly.
Catesby stamped his foot in frustration.
‘All right, don’t believe me, but consider two points. Firstly, where is the king’s primary source of support?’
‘The North.’
‘And who is entrusted with bringing all that support to our expectant monarch?’
‘Northumberland.’
We parted on bad terms. Later that day, I pondered on his words and reported his fears to Richard, but he waved my words away – he had faith in Northumberland. I returned to Southampton unhappily.
I turned in my bed restlessly and tried to tell myself that I was making myself afraid of shadows rather than anything of substance. Catesby was jumping to conclusions. He would not have known that the distances in the North are so great that it takes longer to gather men together. Consequently, Northumberland’s muster would have been far more protracted than, say, Norfolk’s.
Then again, once Northumberland had actually raised his men, it would take him a considerable time to march south to Nottingham. Being no solder and being unfamiliar with the North of England, Catesby would not have known these things. His worries had to be groundless, surely?
‘I trust our northern contingent will join us soon…’
But what would happen if Northumberland’s mustering took too long and he failed to arrive before the battle? Devoid of the support of the men from the North, we would be in considerable trouble. Then again, what if Catesby’s insinuations were correct? Suppose Northumberland joined Tudor? Angrily I tossed and turned. All this could have been avoided if Richard had listened to me and mustered his army before Tudor’s invasion, but he would not because he was overconfident. This was not caused by an overly optimistic assessment of our military situation that I could have corrected for him, rather his confidence stemmed from a much deeper belief that I could not get him to abandon. It was Ratcliffe who illuminated me when I came to Nottingham to report on the southern defences.
‘You’ll find that not a great deal has been done,’ he snorted angrily after I had enquired how the preparations for the army were proceeding.
‘Dear God, why not?’
Ratcliffe’s shoulders sagged.
‘The king believes that he’s protected by God now,’ he said wearily, ‘so now he’s content to let matters take their natural course.’
He looked at me hopefully.
‘Maybe you’ll be able to talk some sense into him?’
I tried, but I failed. I argued that we should muster our troops earlier. It was already mid-July and the campaigning season would not continue much after September. If we concentrated our forces before Tudor landed, we would be in a position to fall on him before he could attract too much support. It could be expensive to summon men prematurely and doubtless they would resent it, but it would deter men from joining Tudor. But Richard was reluctant to take men from the harvests; nor would he issue personal summons to the northern lords. True, some were already with him, but many were not.
‘Northumberland will bring our northerners,’ Richard assured me. ‘With him, Norfolk and Stanley, I have more than enough men.’
‘But…’
‘In any event, Francis, either you’ll halt Tudor in the South or he’ll be destroyed by our followers in Wales.’
‘Look, Richard, I accept that, in theory anyway, we should be able to halt Tudor on the coast or in Wales, but I can’t guarantee it. Surely the obvious thing is to start planning for a scenario where Tudor penetrates our outer defences and starts to move inland. We need to arrange this now as it takes time to organise. Bring up the serpentines and other cannon from the Tower and the castles near here immediately rather than waiting to hear that Tudor has landed. Start assembling your followers now. The earlier you start the greater number of men you’ll gather.’
‘There is no need,’ he announced calmly.
‘How can you be so certain?’ I demanded furiously.
He disregarded my anger and showed no offence at my tone. Instead, he rose from his elaborately carved chair and moved slowly towards me.
‘You still have your ring?’ he asked.
I touched the chain around my neck.
‘And you will still keep your promise?’
‘To put the Earl of Warwick on the throne if you die before you can ensure his succession? You know I will.’
He smiled and for a moment his pale face lit up with happiness.
‘Faithful Francis.’ But then he turned and moved to the window. ‘Yet for all that, I am certain that you will not be the one to ensure that Clarence’s son rules after me.’
I sat silently, not understanding. He turned and saw my enquiring look.
‘God will allow me personally to attend my nephew’s succession,’ he explained.
This was beyond my comprehension.
‘How do you know?’
I think my question interested him for he resumed his seat and placed his fingertips together.
‘Tell me, Francis, what do you recall of the process whereby we may hope to earn remission from our sins?’
I was growing tired of this.
‘Nothing.’
‘You are still to come to grace,’ Richard chided me gently. ‘But first we bring to mind all our sins, admitting all and concealing nothing. Then we confess them daily in a manner which is both humble and penitent, and we beg for forgiveness. Indeed, it is as our very tears wash away our evil-doings that we seek to make restitution and hope to earn Our Lord’s favour by doing good works.’
He touched the cross he wore lovingly, its jewels burning fiercely against the sombre hue of his tunic.
‘There are some who argue that restitution is unnecessary and faith alone can bring us to salvation, but they are wrong to think like that, I am certain.’
This was not the Richard I knew.
‘Why is that?’
He smiled at my seeming interest.
‘God rejoices in our desire to make restitution,’ he explained. And, indeed, He helps us to do so. He is truly content that I seek to make amends to my brothers by placing Clarence’s son on the throne to rule after me.’
‘Well, He won’t be very pleased if, due to your inactivity, Henry Tudor gets to the throne first.’
My bitter remark was probably both sacrilegious and treasonable, but I was past caring. Somehow Richard had to be dragged back to reality, but he just shook his head sadly.
‘You still fail to understand don’t you? Listen, Francis, the Almighty knows that I wish to make recompense to my brothers, and he is both fair and generous. How can you believe that he will deny me this chance to do so by allowing a usurper to steal the throne, which will rightfully belong to my nephew Warwick when I am dead?’
He began to pace up and down in his frustration at my inability to understand. Suddenly he stopped and whirled round to face me.
‘Francis, can you not see how God is already helping me? By allowing Henry Tudor to invade he is ensuring my nephew Warwick’s inheritance.’
This was ridiculous.
‘We
ll I’ve heard that He moves in mysterious ways, but really.’
‘Just think, Francis!’ he howled and sprung towards me to seize my arm. I winced for, despite his lack of stature, he was strong. ‘While Tudor was in France he was safe. I could never have persuaded the French to have handed him over, but now God has delivered him into my hands in England.’
He released his grip and beamed up at me.
‘Surely, Francis, by doing so the Almighty, in his loving goodness, will ensure that I will now defeat Tudor, and with him dead there is no one to prevent Warwick from succeeding me.’
He nodded happily and watched my expression.
‘Surely you see it all now, Francis, as indeed it was revealed to me. By killing Tudor, I begin to earn absolution for my sins.’
I made a final effort to make him see sense.
‘But that’s even more reason for organising everything properly now? Summon your troops immediately.’
‘And have their families starve in the winter because I denied them the chance to tend their fields and harvest their crops?’ Richard rebuked me. ‘Surely that would be a poor way for me to earn my own salvation?’
I sighed in sheer frustration; Richard had retreated into a world where I could never reach him.
‘Trust me, Francis, when I say that God is already helping me to make amends, I speak nothing but the truth. Our victory is certain and, since this is the case, let all other matters take their natural course.’
There was no way to argue with him.
‘When do you intend to proclaim Warwick as your heir?’ I asked curiously.
‘When Tudor has been killed, of course. I would not have it said that I was forced to name my heir because I feared I would be defeated,’ he answered swiftly. ‘Such talk would offend the Almighty.’
I turned in my bed. Richard might have been confident, but others were not. And then Catesby’s words cropped up in my thoughts again. It had been one of our last meetings together and he had been as efficient as ever. The business was swiftly concluded and I recalled him leaning back in his seat as he dismissed the clerks.
‘Have you thought of transferring part of your estates to your wife?’ he asked casually.
‘Why?’
He sniffed.
‘It seems to be quite the fashion at court these days.’
He saw my bemused expression and condescended to explain.
‘It’s a precaution in case Henry Tudor wins. Obviously, a man like you would lose all his lands, but your wife can legally retain those lands that she holds in her name.’
‘It would look disloyal to Richard.’
He raised a cynical eyebrow.
‘Naturally it would, but your wife or widow would need somewhere to live.’
He had a point, so I agreed unenthusiastically.27 Catesby made a note of the manors that I suggested and nodded briskly.
‘I’ll have the papers drawn up for you,’ he said as we rose. ‘It won’t take long; I’ve become quite an expert at it by now.’
I thanked him, but curiously he made no sarcastic comment. Instead his gaze was unfocused as he stood completely still. Presently he shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and gave me an embarrassed glance.
‘There’s no need for thanks, Francis.’
It was so uncharacteristic a remark that I was curious.
‘You seemed so distracted just now?’
He gave a light laugh.
‘I was merely thinking of these land transfers and reflecting how prone men are to look to their own affairs at times like these.’
It seemed a commonplace observation, so I turned to go. But, as I reached the door, he spoke softly again.
‘But then, I suppose, a truly wise man would provide as much insurance for himself as he possibly could.’
At the time I assumed he was still referring to the land transfers so I walked on.
I rose at the first hint of dawn, hoping that light and movement would sweep away the dark fantasies of the night. It was, I thought in impatience, time to end speculation on men’s motives and possible actions, and to confront the reality. Above all it was time to face Tudor in battle. I strode out purposefully to rouse Hoton and his men.
CHAPTER 20
Catesby sniffed ostentatiously.
‘You could have the decency to have cleaned yourself up, Francis, before rushing in here.’
I ignored his fastidiousness.
‘I see that Northumberland’s troops have arrived; so what’s the overall situation?’
Catesby’s eyes narrowed as he carefully selected a scroll from a number that lay on the table in his tent. Even on campaign, he seemed to delight in surrounding himself with paperwork. His green eyes flickered down the scroll.
‘We’ll start with Tudor,’ he began. ‘The latest estimates put their force at about 6,000 men under the generalship of the Earl of Oxford.’
‘Only 6,000?’ I gasped.
‘Apparently so. Now Tudor is currently camped a few miles west of here.’
‘But in your first message you said that Tudor was approaching Shrewsbury and a week or so later he’s only got as far as here. What has he been doing?’
Catesby grinned.
‘I imagine that the pace of his advance slowed somewhat as he realised the paucity of his numbers. Doubtless he spent the time looking for allies.’
I smiled back at him.
‘Well he does not seem to have had much success, does he?’
Catesby regarded me thoughtfully.
‘I would urge against over-optimism, my lord. I am not wholly convinced that our own situation is perfect. Morale is not high and there have been desertions.’
I shrugged. On the eve of battle that was unsurprising.
‘And while the Earl of Northumberland has arrived,’ Catesby went on, ‘the number of men with him is somewhat low.’
‘How low?’
‘4,000.’
‘Is that all?’ I asked aghast.
Catesby eyed me neutrally.
‘Naturally, it would be wholly inappropriate for me to venture an opinion, but I hear that the Earl of Northumberland is claiming,’ and Catesby lingered on the word, ‘that there was inadequate time to muster all the men of the North. Accordingly, most of the men who accompanied him here are his own personal followers.’
I ignored Catesby’s insinuation. He knew nothing of the North and still less about the problems of mustering men quickly. Still, Northumberland and his men were here, as was Richard’s most loyal magnate, the Duke of Norfolk and the men from London under Brackenbury. We probably vastly outnumbered Tudor.
‘On the face of it, Lord Stanley appears loyal to the king,’ Catesby advised. ‘Initially he declined the royal summons claiming that he had fallen victim to the sweating sickness, but since then he has raised his men and placed them in front of the advancing Tudor army falling back slowly towards us.’
Lord Stanley could have been acting as a screen for Richard’s army or, alternatively, he could have been doing the same for Tudor so that he could receive fresh recruits without reinforcements.
‘What about his brother, Sir William?’
‘Already declared a traitor. We know that he has been in contact with Tudor, but he has not joined him. At present, the forces of both brothers are camped to the south of us.’
This was a conundrum. If Sir William was a traitor and Lord Stanley supposedly loyal, why were their two forces allied together?
‘But even without the Stanleys we must easily outnumber Tudor’s force?’
Catesby pursed his lips.
‘By about two to one, Francis.’ He smiled without humour. ‘But were Lord Stanley and his brother to fight for Tudor, both armies’ numbers would be broadly even.’
‘Do you think they will?’
Catesby rose and began to saunter about.
‘While we were at Nottingham, Lord Stanley’s son tried to escape. We recaptured him and, under interrogation, Lord Stran
ge confirmed that his uncle, Sir William, was a traitor, but swore that his father was loyal.’
Catesby stopped and grinned at me.
‘Did I believe him? No, of course not, but I knew what to do. So I put Lord Strange in the hands of my two dogs.’
‘Why?’
Catesby looked amazed.
‘Do you seriously imagine that I would entrust such a key hostage to the incompetent royal guards again? Had Lord Strange escaped, his stepfather would have immediately declared for Tudor. Now, safely chained night and day to my man, Bracher, there is no chance of that happening.’
That was true and, undoubtedly, with Lord Strange in our possession, Lord Stanley would not dare join Tudor.
‘Make sure you keep him safe!’ I said. ‘Now I will go and inspect the likely battleground before we all meet in the king’s tent.’
As I walked down the grassy slope towards the great marsh, I tried to put myself in Tudor’s mind. He had advanced to a position less than half a day’s march west of us. He would be upon us tomorrow. But how could he hope to win? His own spies would have told him our own numbers, and he would know by now that we held Lord Strange hostage. Surely Henry Tudor was not expecting his stepfather Lord Stanley to sacrifice his eldest son? Against odds of two to one, assuming that both Lord Stanley and his brother remained neutral, why was Tudor advancing? I pondered this as I stood for a while by the side of the great marsh; then it suddenly struck me – this was Tudor’s final throw of the dice. He had tried once before and failed. If he ran away now, no one would support him a third time. Well, clearly he had courage, but it would be to no avail tomorrow. I carefully started to construct my battle plan to defeat Tudor’s general, the Earl of Oxford.
It was crowded in Richard’s tent and I had to raise my voice to make myself heard above the babble.
‘Tudor will be upon us tomorrow,’ I began.
‘We should advance on him now.’
For an old man, the Duke of Norfolk had a surprisingly strong voice. Next to him his son, the Earl of Surrey, nodded belligerently.