Oliver watched as his master climbed to the top of a flat-topped stone column at the foot of a set of steps and sat looking out over the courtyard. Oliver strode to the foot of the column and sat in silence, hoping his master would notice him.
“Oliver, you need not attend me today,” Edmund said tiredly.
“If it’s just the same to you, my lord, I have no other matters to tend to, and it’s a fair day to be in the courtyard.”
Edmund had to smile. A light rain had been falling most of the day and he knew there were any number of places Oliver would rather be.
“I think that I ask too much of you, Oliver,” Edmund said. “When was the last time you saw your family?”
“I visited with them once since I was sold into your service, Master, when I was twelve, I think. I remember thinking at the time that they
didn’t appear to have missed me much. Besides, this is where I’m needed, not there.” He stood and stretched his body. “In my estimation, if I had not been sold into your service, I might never have left that little village I was born in. I tell you honestly, my lord, I can’t even remember its name.” He scratched his head and continued almost to himself, “I wonder if it had one.”
A new thought occurred to Edmund. “If we are successful in these struggles and I became a prince, how would you feel about your service then?”
“If that were to be your fate, my lord, I could not serve you any differently than I do now.”
Edmund tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “I don’t think that I could be a king,” he mused. “I wouldn’t like the changes that I’d have to make.”
“For some, the lure of such power would be worth a great deal,” responded Oliver, shaking the moisture from his hair.
“I don’t believe that such people realize the price they have paid until it is too late. Still, I suppose someone has to be king.” He thought about that for a moment. “I wonder if King Henry wishes he had been born in that little town of yours that has no name, instead of at the royal palace. Who could possibly envy our great king his prison room in the Tower?”
“Not I, my lord. The kitchen maid’s mother is guard enough for me.”
Edmund laughed, then turned serious.
“If I should fall in this battle, Oliver, I would like you to commend me to my brother. Tell him that everything I’ve done was for him.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “And tell him that all I beg in exchange is that he remember well our lives together.”
Oliver looked up at his master, surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation. “I do not understand, my lord. And to speak in this way could bring evil fortune.” He crossed himself.
“Fortune will find its own way into our lives, Oliver, regardless of our best efforts to control our own destinies. Remember my request.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Oliver was upset by his master’s cavalier attitude toward fate. He should know better than to tempt God, especially when a battle was looming.
“If you wish to marry the young kitchen maid, you have my good leave, Oliver. I would not wish to stand between you and your joy, especially at this time. You are young and should enjoy the advantages of a loving wife and family.” Edmund knew that his own future wife would be chosen for him by his father to seal some bargain with another lord. The joys he wished for his page would not be his. “I will even see to it that you have some time together without duties for a while.”
“As always, you are most kind, master, but I don’t think that I’m ready for a wife yet. The thought of it gives me chills.”
“Don’t wait too long, my friend,” said Edmund softly. “Our youth will be quickly by us.”
Oliver was about to inquire of his master’s glum mood when their attention was jarred by the clanging of the alarm bell, which set in motion a flurry of activity within the castle. Startled, Edmund jumped up to see the guard in the watch tower furiously ringing the bell. The captain of the watch came out from the base of the main battlement and looked up to the sentry.
“Report!” he demanded impatiently.
“An army, Captain,” the sentry shouted pointing to the north. “Thousands strong!”
“Give me a proper report, damn you.” The sentry tried to compose himself, and looked out on the field between Wakefield and Sandal. An army was emerging from out of the woods, knights on horses, archers, and a sea of footsoldiers.
“Three hundred horses, Captain,” he estimated as he spoke. “And of all other men, between five and six thousand.”
The captain was visibly shaken. “How can that be? Give way, you fool.” He ran up the spiral stone steps to the allure as the Duke of York and the Earl of Salisbury came out from the great hall, both strapping on their swords. Edmund jumped down from his column and stood at the base of the stairs, followed by Oliver. They all waited impatiently for the captain’s report.
“What is the cause for this alarm?” demanded York.
The captain turned at last and reported, “My lords, no less than six thousand fighting men are arrayed without. They wear the colors of Lord Clifford.”
“God’s blood, this is treachery,” cursed the duke. “The queen is sworn to uphold the Christmas truce.”
“She has forsworn herself, my lord,” said Salisbury, “and she has caught us indeed. Most of my men are gone, gathering food and supplies.”
Edmund saw the rage on his father’s face, and he knew that the time had come. He prayed for the strength to do what had to be done.
*
Samuel and Jeremy emerged from the woods before Sandal Castle wondering about Lord Clifford’s strategy. Usually, on the day of a battle, the troops would be arrayed at first light to make the most of the day on the battlefield. Since they had arrived late in the day at Sandal, Samuel expected them to make camp and begin the assault the next morning. Instead, as the sun dipped toward the trees, Lord Clifford ordered them out into the open field before the castle, and to stand ready for combat. Clifford was in charge of the operation, with Lords Wiltshire and Roos along to assist. Samuel and the other members of Northumberland’s personal guard were assigned to give close support to Lord Clifford, and were in the vanguard of the army.
As they marched around the town of Wakefield, Lord Wiltshire split off from the main army with two thousand men and disappeared into the woods to the west of town. As they approached the edge of the wood in front of Sandal, Lord Roos, with three thousand more soldiers, separated and stood off to east. Clifford, with the rest of the forces, marched boldly out of the woods and stood before the castle.
Samuel and Jeremy stood in the shadow of Clifford’s horse wondering about the strategy. There could not have been more than an hour of daylight left, and to begin a siege at this time seemed impossible. But instead of signaling an attack, Clifford sat serenely on his horse and waited.
*
The Duke of York was livid. That the queen could be a part of such treachery, and during the Christmas week! The drawbridge had been lifted at the first sound of the alarm, and the army outside his walls notwithstanding, the castle was fairly secure. The archers on the walls would be able to cut down hundreds of men if they attempted to cross the moat, making a frontal assault a fool’s tactic. But he had not thought to provision the castle against a siege, and certainly there would not be food for five thousand men for more than a few days. At last word, Edward was still weeks away.
“What news?” he yelled toward the sentry post.
Edmund, who had joined the watch after hastily donning his armor and long sword, answered. “They have not advanced. They seem to be waiting for something.”
Salisbury, who had just then rejoined the duke after organizing a supply line from the castle dungeons, said, “More than likely they are waiting for some siege equipment. Only Clifford would
be so bold as to show his hand before he was prepared.”
“We’ll see how bold he is,” said the duke. To the nearest attendant he snapped, “Summon my guard to their horses and bring me my armor.”
Salisbury stared at him in disbelief. “Your Grace cannot be serious.”
“I’ll not have haughty Clifford stand outside my gates scoffing at me while he waits for more men. Captain, assemble your men!”
“My lord,” shouted Salisbury, chasing after the duke, “they have two men for every one of ours. These are dangerous odds.”
“They will not be expecting us to strike first. It’s the only advantage we have.”
At the call to assemble, Edmund told Oliver to prepare his horse and await him with the others in the courtyard. Now as the footsoldiers and horsemen crammed into every available space, they were both waiting for orders. He did not understand why they were assembling instead of preparing for a siege. The call also went out to the troops billeted outside the walls to prepare to join those who were inside at the front gate.
Edmund mounted his horse. “God keep you, Oliver. Stay out of harm’s way until this is over, and try to find my brother. He will see to your needs.”
“I have you to see to my needs, my lord, and require no other,” he said. Edmund nodded and smiled.
They clasped hands and the young earl urged his horse up to where his father was looking over the men from atop his stallion. As everyone stood ready, there was an eerie quiet over the castle. “We are outnumbered, but surprise is on our side,” the duke addressed them. “God has blessed our cause with many victories and will not desert us now. Let every man remember that our cause is just, and God’s hand will protect you.” There was a general shout of assent from the ranks, and York shouted to lower the bridge.
As they issued forth from the castle, and were joined by the rest of York’s army, the duke gave a final shout and charged directly toward Lord Clifford’s position.
*
When Clifford saw the bridge begin its descent, he sat high on his horse and craned his neck to confirm the latest development. At the sight of the duke’s army gathering in front of the castle, he began to laugh. Samuel looked at him incredulously wondering what the man could be thinking. Instinctively he reached around to his quiver for the comforting feel of his arrows.
As York’s army assembled, Clifford shouted, “Archers! Prepare your lines.”
Samuel, Jeremy, and the rest of the archers formed two long lines in front of Lord Clifford’s vanguard, and nocked their arrows. It was cold enough to make Samuel’s fingers stiff, but he knew after the first few volleys he would not even notice.
“Fire at will when you have the range,” barked Clifford, spurring his horse toward the rear of the archers, where he began organizing the ground troops.
York’s forces were in full charge toward them and would be in range in seconds. No one would have to tell the archers when to fire; each knew within a yard how far his target needed to be. Samuel gauged the speed of the horses, the distance left between them, and drew back his bow. The first volley was loosed by both lines within a second of each other.
The flock of arrows arched through the gray sky. At the end of their graceful flight, they rained death on the charging army, in the midst of which dozens fell to the ground in agony or instantly dead. Before those in the ranks could thank God that they were still alive, the next volley was on its way.
Samuel noticed one knight surrounded by others who held up shields to protect him with each volley. He guessed that it was one of the rebel lords, perhaps even the duke himself. Another rider wearing the same colors charged out in front of everyone as if he wanted to take the brunt of the attack on himself. Samuel thought that he was either very brave, or knew something about fate, and he was about to take aim at that man when Clifford gave the order for the infantry to engage. His job was finished for the moment. He watched as the ground troops streamed by him to join the battle. Clifford himself was riding furiously from rank to rank giving direction and brandishing his huge sword.
After a quarter-hour of furious combat at close quarters, Clifford ordered the troops to fall back, much to Samuel’s astonishment. There did not seem to be any advantage being gained by the rebels and it seemed entirely unnecessary to give ground, but like the rest, he complied and began a slow retreat toward the tree line. Just as their backs were hard on the woods, he heard new shouting from off to the east. He looked out over the battle lines to see Lord Roos’ force appear from out of the woods to attack the rear of York’s army. Samuel realized that Clifford and the queen had planned a masterful trap, and that York, by coming out of Sandal to engage them, had fallen into it.
*
Edmund watched as his comrades fell around him before they even had a chance to strike a blow. He knew that after the initial volleys of arrows they would be able to close ranks, but getting to that position seemed to take forever. He saw that his father’s men were carefully protecting him as was their duty, so he bent his attention to the field between himself and the enemy. He did not look up to see the flights of arrows bending toward him, and as they fell to the ground or struck someone near him, he closed his eyes and spurred his horse forward. When he next noticed his position there was no one between himself and Lord Clifford’s army. He drew his sword and was the first of his father’s men to engage the ground forces that had come out to meet them, slashing at anything that drew near.
The troops before him began retreating, and he rode in among them with abandon. The daylight began to fade as the battle progressed, and the figures of the enemy seemed, to Edmund, to take on a ghostly pallor. As his pursuit took him close to the trees near the River Calder, Clifford’s men stopped their retreat and began to swarm around him. His sword arm throbbed with exhaustion, and he was not sure whether the moisture he felt on his body was from the rain or from blood. He did not hear the new attack from Lord Roos’ column, nor did he really feel the impact of the ground when a soldier grabbed his arm and tugged him off his horse. He felt only the sensation of falling into an infinite hole before he lost consciousness.
*
Oliver watched Lord Roos’ men hack their way through the devastated ranks of the duke’s army. The final blow came when the duke sounded retreat and attempted a return to Sandal. At that moment, Lord Wiltshire’s column appeared from behind the castle and charged over the bridge to occupy the duke’s last hope for refuge. York desperately led his last charge into the midst of Clifford’s men, and finally was dragged off his horse and hacked to death by footsoldiers. The great rebel had been vanquished, and moments after his death, the remainder of his men surrendered their arms.
Clifford, after confirming York’s death, appropriated many of Northumberland’s men, including Samuel and Jeremy, and began searching for anyone who might have escaped the onslaught.
*
“My lord, can you hear me?”
Edmund was not sure what voice came to him from the darkness, which he mistook for the domain of the dead.
“My lord! Please, you must flee or bloody Clifford will be hard upon us.”
Edmund’s eyes fluttered open. In the early evening dark, he recognized the unmistakable silhouette of his page. The ears that stuck straight out from his head identified him even to one as groggy as he.
“Oliver? How in God’s name…?”
“There’s no time, my lord. Please rise, we must flee this place. We are close to town and may find refuge there.”
Oliver helped the young earl struggle from his armor, now more a hindrance than useful protection. He was mortified at his master’s wounds. His left leg was bleeding profusely from a gash in his thigh just above his knee, and the side of his face was badly gouged from the chin up to his temple.
His master a dead weight on his shoulder, Oliver made slowly toward Wakefie
ld, wondering at his fortune. After York’s army had left the castle, he had compulsively run after them on foot. He simply could not bear to wait and do nothing. By the time he arrived near the battlefield, bodies were everywhere. A riderless horse came to him when he called it. Oliver mounted and urged it into the fray.
Finally, he caught sight of Edmund charging headlong into the enemy near the wood. Horrified by his master’s obvious danger, he galloped after him. But by the time he caught him, Edmund was being pulled from his horse and set upon by a footsoldier. The soldier never saw Oliver come up from behind him at a full gallop, nor did he see Oliver’s foot as it crashed into his face. And now, as he cajoled Edmund toward town, he could not believe his luck. That nobody interfered as they made for the safety of a thicket of low shrubs was a miracle in itself.
At last, they reached the bridge that crossed the Calder, on the other side of which lay the town of Wakefield. They were halfway across when fortune abandoned them.
“Hold!” a stern voice called out from behind. Oliver turned, still supporting Edmund, to see Lord Clifford and a small force of men emerge from the woods.
“Run, Oliver. Save yourself,” Edmund spoke in a low but urgent whisper.
Instead, Oliver leaned Edmund against the stone railing of the bridge and stood defiantly as he was surrounded by Clifford’s men. One took Edmund by the hair and lifted his face, then saw the Falcon-and-Fetterlock emblem on his tunic. “He wears the colors of York, my lord.”
Samuel and Jeremy watched Clifford step up to the young lord, who, Samuel guessed, was probably no older than himself.
“My friends, we have found the Earl of Rutland, and indeed a treasonous rebel,” said Clifford, murder in his voice.
“Please, my lord, he is badly hurt,” pleaded Oliver. Clifford laid him on the ground with a blow of his gloved fist. “Another word, cur, and you’ll join him in Hell.”
The Beggar's Throne Page 5