*
Back in the town of Stony Stratford, the Duke of Somerset stood before the door of his inn and watched as a fitful Lord Hastings took his leave to wait for the king at the main road by the entrance to town. He marveled that Edward could have such a faithful friend in such times as these. A king was more likely to be surrounded by opportunists and self-serving scoundrels, like those who had poisoned the court of King Henry.
“A word with you, Your Grace.”
Somerset spun to see the source of the voice behind him, amazed that one could approach so silently. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he saw a short man, wrapped in a hooded brown cloak that concealed most of his face except for a crooked smirk.
“Can we leave this public place for a moment? I know that Your Grace is a busy man, but my message comes from a queen.”
Somerset motioned for the man to follow him and slipped into an alley between the inn and the adjoining stable. Not wanting to turn his back to him, the duke motioned for him to go first as he made a pretense of checking the street to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied that they were secluded enough, he grabbed the small man by the cloak and pushed him up against the wall of the stable.
“How dare you approach me in a public place? I should have your throat ripped from your neck for placing me in such danger.” The small man did not seem frightened by the duke’s threats. The smirk never left his face as he responded.
“Please forgive me, Your Grace, but the urgency of my news required that I take bold steps to contact you.” Somerset released him and tried to regain his composure in the face of this little man’s arrogance.
“Reveal to me your message and be quick about it.”
“It is only this, Your Grace: The queen has gathered a new army near Berwick and is marching toward Bamborough Castle as we speak. She instructs me to tell you that she values your friendship and will welcome you back, if it please Your Grace.” Each time he said Your Grace he made it sound more like a curse than an honorific. “That is, unless this life as the king’s lapdog satisfies you.”
Somerset’s first reaction was anger, but then he realized that the epithet was probably accurate. He turned his back on the insolent man and took a minute to gather his thoughts. Clearly he would never regain his former prominence under this Yorkist king, and it was even more apparent that the Nevilles would rather see him dead than to grant him the respect to which his high office entitled him. He was snubbed at court and, the friendship of the king notwithstanding, his wealth and lands were barely enough to sustain him.
“How does the queen expect to gain access to Bamborough?”
“I am permitted to tell you this since the deed is already done. Sir Ralph Percy, whom the usurper foolishly placed in charge, has ceded the castle to the queen. She has only to arrive with her puissance and the gates will be opened to her.”
Somerset knew that if this news were true, Margaret would have a strong base from which to renew her attack on the northern counties, where support for Edward was still weak. From such a base, and with Warwick safely out of the way in France, Margaret could prevail.
“I must put my affairs in order here and then will follow you to Bamborough.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but surely you understand that I am to escort you myself now. The queen has entrusted to me your…safety.” Somerset looked at him for a moment, the implications clear.
“I assume then that you have horses waiting.”
The little man pointed toward the back of the stable building, and Somerset walked in that direction. Horses were being held by another man dressed in a similar hooded cloak, who handed one set of reins to Somerset. As the duke mounted his horse, the little man sheathed the dagger that he had been holding under his cloak, and mounted his own, a little disappointed that he had accomplished his mission.
*
On a bluff above a river somewhere in central England, a small castle kept watch over a modest series of planted fields and an insignificant cluster of hovels in which the field hands lived. Night sat heavy on the land, the smell of rain thick in the air and deep in the soil. Within the master’s quarters of the castle two men sat in a torchlit room with roughly cut stone walls and sparse furniture. A pitiful flame in the small hearth provided extra light but little heat. The master of the castle, Lord Colinsworth, was a young man in his mid-twenties with fair hair and pale blue eyes, and a complexion that gave him the appearance of illness even when he was not. His late father left him the castle and lofty title, but little silver or land with which to support himself. Many merchants in town were better off than he, and as a result he hated to even leave the walls of his modest inheritance, lest people see him and scoff. His self-imposed exile had given his bitterness ample time to age until it defined his very existence.
“How can you be certain that she is in York?” he asked the other man, who was standing in a dark area of the room near the fire.
“My men followed her from the day she left Durham,” was the quiet response.
“But why would she leave? And who was the person with her?”
“We are not certain but it was a serving man, from the colors of his tunic. What man he serves we could not ascertain. As for why she left, it could be that the attack on her man frightened her away.”
Colinsworth slammed his hand down on the table. “My instructions were specific,” he said angrily. “You were only to see that she got our message, not to frighten her out of town.”
The dark shape seemed to shrug. “We underestimated the nature of their relationship. They seem to be in love.” Disdain dripped from the word.
“This matter has been bungled badly. Do you at least know where she is in York?”
“I do.”
“What do you know of the man with whom she’s been?”
“I only know that he serves in the king’s personal guard.”
“The king’s…” Colinsworth was stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me this from the start? The guardsmen will be seeking retribution for an attack on their own.”
“You needn’t concern yourself with that. My men know how to cover their tracks, and the Guard has enough to do trying to keep the Yorkist on the throne. The queen is still giving them fits in the north.”
“The stakes are high in this for us both. If we succeed, I can leave this God-forsaken place and take my rightful place among the peers of the realm, and you’ll have your place with me assured. But if we are discovered prematurely, you’ll find yourself wandering the squalid back streets of York again where my men found you.”
The large man took a step forward, allowing the glow from the fire to illuminate a face with a hideous scar that curled his mouth into a permanent sneer.
“Do not threaten me, my lord,” he growled. “You haven’t the courage to back it.”
Perhaps it was because Sir Hugh had blocked the fire, but to Colinsworth it suddenly felt much colder.
*
Henry and Margaret sat in a private chamber with the king of the Scots, James III, a slight man with a suspicious nature. He had traveled to Berwick Castle to dispatch a troublesome debt to the French king.
For a hundred years he and his predecessors had relied on the French alliance to keep the English king in check, so that an uneasy balance of power could be maintained. If England invaded France, the Scots would pillage in the north of England, and if the English invaded Scotland, the French would lend troops and financial aide.
Now, Louis of France had required that he assist the Lancastrians and James felt honor-bound to comply even though most of his nobles had counseled against it. Concerned about renewed hostilities with Edward, and without the recently dead Earl of Angus to lead them, they were in a weakened position. Still, the debt to Louis needed to be paid.
“We have little sup
port among the nobility,” James said. “I can only give you a small force to augment the meager following that has arrived from France. If the northern lords of England are truly inclined to your cause, they will join you when you march south.”
“We do not presume to question your support, my lord,” responded Margaret impatiently. “However, if we are to convince the northern lords to join with us again, we must have some hope for success. What you have offered is unlikely to sway them.”
“Nevertheless, I have extended my private resources as far as I dare. If Edward turns his revenging eyes to us, we will be sorely pressed to defend the realm.”
“A king’s duty is to his people,” said Henry.
James was unsure what he meant.
“It is indeed, my lord,” he responded.
Margaret glanced at her husband. As usual she could not depend on him to help. “You could ask for the lords to gather so that we could make a personal entreaty. I know that I could persuade them to contribute to our rightful claim.”
James shook his head. “They will not come, my lady. Unless Edward directly threatens us, they will not stir from their castles. I have already asked.”
Margaret sat back in her chair, resigned to her situation. Both Louis and James had offered a pittance of help, for such was always the fate of the beggar. For now she would do her best with what she had, and pray that more troops could be gathered from the feckless lords of the north.
CHAPTER XVIII
The sheer number of people in the rebel camp amazed Christopher. He had expected a small and secret group of fighters, but instead, he found hundreds of ragged men jostling for a patch of ground to call their own. The steady drizzle of late summer rain had turned the encampment into a muddy quagmire.
Simon Johnson escorted Christopher past the throng, leading the way to one of the few tents. A large man with rotted teeth and a bushy red beard was standing guard. He recognized Simon.
“Greetings, Gregory. I have a new recruit to see Robin.” The guard looked him over.
“I’ll have to search you.”
Christopher nodded in understanding and allowed himself to be searched. When Gregory was satisfied, he told the two men to wait and disappeared into the tent. Reappearing after a few moments, he motioned them to enter and held the flap aside as they passed. Inside, an unimposing man sat at a table in the only chair, reading a parchment with interest.
“Greetings, Robin,” said Simon. “I bring the new recruit that we spoke of.” The dark man looked up from his parchment and Christopher got his first good look at him. The clean-shaven face was one of a middle-aged man with a noble bearing, but at the same time not a face that demanded attention in a crowd. His manner was one of disarming confidence.
“You are welcome among my little band of rebels. Like the rest of us, I assume you have precious few skills that will serve us in a battle?”
“I’m afraid I bring only a strong desire to do what I can,” Christopher said, “but I must say that from what I’ve seen, this band of yours does not appear so little.”
The man laughed. “It is gratifying to see that so many of the common folk agree with what we’re trying to accomplish. The men call me Robin of Redesdale, which while not my real name does have a nice ring, don’t you agree? That’s all you need to know of me, and you’ll know even less about our actions except for those in which you are directly involved. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Christopher. “But just so there is no misunderstanding, what exactly is it that you’re trying to accomplish?”
“Quite so,” Robin nodded. “It’s a fair and wise question. We are all dedicated to a single goal, and that’s to see Sir Henry Percy released from prison and returned to his rightful place as Earl of Northumberland. We know that we have the support of most who live in the northern counties, and if this Yorkist king refuses our just demand, then we’ll fight for King Henry, whom we know will do right by the House of Percy. Are you with us, Christopher?”
“With all my heart,” he said firmly. While he could not shake his pangs of guilt for leaving Emma and the children, this speech of Robin’s had regenerated his resolve to be a part of making the country right again.
“Good! Then I can tell you the excellent news that I’ve just received,” Robin nodded toward the parchment that he had been studying so intently when they first arrived. “The queen has gathered another army near Berwick Castle and fully intends to press her cause. I will raise as many able-bodied men as I can and join her. Tell me, Christopher Miller, can you swing a cudgel?”
“As well as the next man, I expect.”
“Then Simon will get you one. I’ve always thought that a man with a smart cudgel is worth two of the king’s footsoldiers. See that he’s given what we can spare, Simon, and then get some rest. You’ll be needing all your wits before long.”
They left the tent and found a small fire where several wild fowl were being roasted on a spit; the men at the fire invited them to share. Afterwards, they walked around the encampment and Simon introduced the new recruit to dozens of people. Christopher was surprised to discover the many walks of life represented by these men: farmers, tradesmen, merchants of all kinds. Later, they found an open spot under a tree to rest.
“Who is this Robin of Redesdale?” Christopher asked.
Simon looked up sharply. “It’s best you don’t ask too many questions about Robin, my friend. I can tell you only that he’s nobly born and a kind and gentle man. He will always treat you right if you do your job and keep a mind to your own business.”
“But is he one of us? From the northern counties?”
“He is. They say he’s related to the Nevilles, but contended against them and sided instead with Northumberland before the earl was killed at Towton Field. Now he’s left only with his honor, and with those few of us that he can raise in secret to help the earl’s heir.” Simon realized that he’d probably already said too much. “That’s more than you need to know about Robin, so let us not speak of him again.”
Christopher nodded, understanding that in such a group as this, it would take only one informer to sabotage the entire operation. He changed the subject.
“Was it hard for you to leave your family?” Simon looked out at the dozens of men who were milling around in the rain, all with their own hopes and motivations for being here.
“It was,” he answered at last. “My wife was sad to see me go, but I always told her that the day would come, and she expected it.” He watched as Christopher fidgeted with a stick. “I gather by the way you left that you hadn’t told your wife anything about what you were planning?”
“No. And now I regret that. I can’t get her face out of my mind, but I do not regret my decision to join.” The last was spoken with a certain lack of conviction. “It’s just…well, the children will need their father and now I won’t be there.”
“The missus and I were never blessed with children, so I wouldn’t know about that. But you’ll tell them when you return that the world is a dangerous place and if we consider ourselves fit to live in this kingdom, then such sacrifices are sometimes necessary. They’ll see the logic in that when they grow to be men themselves.”
Christopher grimaced. “They’re both girls.”
“Well then,” Simon was surprised, “their mother will give them what they need. I’m sure that she’s a most capable woman.”
“Yes. She is,” he said sadly.
Simon slapped him on the back. “Cheer up, friend. With luck, this business will soon be done and you can return to them before they know you’re gone. Now let’s rest. Like Robin says, we may not get another chance for a while.” Pulling a thin wool blanket over his shoulders, he rolled over and closed his eyes.
Christopher leaned back against the tree and stared up at the
densely leafed branches. I should have confided in her, he thought bitterly.
*
The Duke of Somerset knelt before Margaret and Henry, the former king and queen of England, thinking quickly of how best to explain his defection to the Yorkists. Also present in the audience chamber of Bywell Castle was Sir Ralph Percy, brother to the late Earl of Northumberland, who had already been forgiven by Margaret for capitulating to Edward. That had been an easy act for Margaret, since Sir Ralph had quickly surrendered Bamborough and Dunstanborough Castles back to the Lancastrians when they arrived at the gates.
Margaret regarded her son, the eleven-year-old Prince of Wales, and then the duke. If times had been better, she would have seen his head perched on the castle ramparts within the hour, but this was no time to turn away anyone who could be of use. She knew that she would have to pardon his defection, but first she would watch him squirm.
“Majesties, I profess and swear to you both, before God Almighty, that my allegiance to Your Highnesses has never wavered, but that my actions were necessitated by the evil fortune which befell us all, and by the failure of the Earl of Angus to fulfill his oaths. I decided then that as long as Your Highnesses lived, it was my responsibility to keep my head and live to fight for the House of Lancaster again.”
Margaret’s stony expression did not change. Shifting her attention to Henry, she wondered what he thought of their having to stomach the platitudes of traitors. She remembered then that Henry had predicted Somerset’s treachery right before they lost all of the northern castles. But now the king sat quietly staring at the floor. She sighed heavily and then turned to the prince.
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