“What are you called, my friend?”
“I am Christopher Miller.”
“The queen bade me thank you for your services, and though she has nothing of value with which to repay you and your friends, she will not forget your service to her. Now go and rejoin Robin, and tell him from Lord Roos that we will have need of his services again, that I swear.”
“I will, my lord.”
Leaving the confines of Bywell Castle, the three men reentered the woods to avoid any detection by Montagu’s roving bands. As they slowly picked their way through the trees back to Robin’s camp, Christopher was haunted by the memory of Margaret and the prince alone and surrounded by cutthroats. Even under those conditions, she had held herself most nobly without fear. He could see why despite the desperation of her cause, people still knelt before her and died for her when asked.
*
The next day, Lord Montagu entered the prison tent where the Duke of Somerset and Sir Ralph Percy had been carefully guarded. Behind him stood two men-at-arms with the king’s Sun-in-Splendor emblem embossed on the breastplates of their armor.
“Henry Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and Ralph Percy, Knight of Northumberland, you stand condemned of high treason against the person of the king and the realm. Do you wish to speak before I pronounce the sentence which has been ratified by His Majesty?” Montagu held a scroll with the king’s seal.
From the time of the battle’s end, both of the condemned men knew their inevitable fate. Having been pardoned once by the king, there could be no expectation of leniency this time. Percy struggled to his feet, his leg still almost worthless. But he straightened his back and spoke loudly.
“Montagu, it is you who are guilty of treason against the anointed king of England, and everyone here present knows that my soul is pure in this matter.”
Somerset, emboldened by Percy’s words, stood next to him. “Pronounce your doom, Montagu. We have nothing to say to you.”
“Very well,” Montagu was unimpressed, “then hear the sentence of your king. You have been judged guilty of treason and high crimes against your liege lord to whom you both swore loyalty. This very morning you shall be taken to the block and presently beheaded. May God acquit you of your crimes. Take them!”
The walk to the wagon that would convey them to the block was slow, as Percy limped in pain on his useless leg. It was another pleasant day, the sun high in the morning sky, and Somerset, trying with great effort to show no signs of fear, thought that it was a fine day to meet his maker. They rode to the center of the town of Hexham, where many townsfolk and the hooded executioner awaited them before the block. For the sake of these witnesses, the charges and sentence were read again. Percy was the first to face the executioner, whom he forgave before he knelt. The stroke of the ax was swift and brought gasps from the onlookers, to whom such spectacles were like a carnival. Percy’s body was thrown in the wagon and Somerset was led to the block.
“God save King Henry!” he yelled to the crowd, and was pleased to see at his last moment that many of the villagers nodded in agreement. He forgave the executioner and placed his head on the block. He did not hear the gasps from the crowd.
*
Samuel accompanied the guard and King Edward into York, barely able to contain his desire to run from his duties to look for Kate and his family, even though to do so when the army was preparing for battle would be treason. Still, Samuel was prepared to do just that when word arrived of Montagu’s quick victory, and the king, not wishing to add to his already considerable debt, dismissed his followers. As the army dispersed, the guard accompanied the king into town where Edward had made arrangements to stay at the palace. Sir Julian insisted that Samuel stay until the king was safely escorted but promised he would have permission to leave that evening.
The king was met by Lord Montagu at the palace and ordered his court to assemble immediately. Sir Julian hastily made the arrangements for the security of the great hall, and all of the dignitaries within the city of York were summoned to attend. Montagu’s brother, the bishop of Exeter, and the king’s brothers, Clarence and Gloucester, were present, as were Lord Rivers, the king’s new father-in-law, though that fact was not yet known, and Lord Scales. Along with the Archbishop of York and the aldermen and mayor of the City, the group made a colorful spectacle of nobility.
When the king was seated, the archbishop, a man of eighty years and barely able to hold his crosier, gave a blessing and thanked the Lord for the victories that he had given his anointed servant on earth.
Edward then addressed the gathering. “We thank you all for this most gracious welcome to York. We have asked you all to attend us here on this glorious day to recognize with us the deeds of our well beloved cousin of Montagu.” Shouts and cheers greeted Montagu them.
The young Neville lord bowed. “My gracious liege, I bring you even greater news than that of Hexham Field. Couriers have arrived from the northern castles of Bamborough, Bywell, and Dunstanborough, to confirm that they have all yielded to Your Highness’ mercy and are securely held by my men. Moreover, I have most reliable information that Margaret has been wafted back to France from whence she came, penniless and without aid. Your Highness may rest easy that the northern counties have finally been wrested from the Lancastrian traitors!”
The room buzzed with exclamations of surprise and satisfaction. For five years the Lancastrians had maintained a strong threat in the north, but at last the struggle was over. Edward held up his hand for silence.
“My lord of Montagu, stand near and hear the thanks of a most grateful monarch. Because you have most nobly and bravely defended our throne, may you never again be called Lord Montagu, but from this time forward, you and your issue shall be revered as the Earls of Northumberland!”
Montagu and the others stared in stunned silence, barely able to believe what had just occurred. The Earldom of Northumberland was among the richest of the realm, and bestowed power upon the holder second only to the king’s in the northern counties. It was a reward of great value for which he had not dared hope.
“Your Highness is too kind,” he said finally. “I have done only what my duty demanded of me, and nothing more.”
“You have spoken truly, but it is our pleasure to see that such service is appropriately rewarded.” Edward stood. “Rise, my lord of Northumberland!” He embraced his cousin. Addressing the room, Edward let his voice rise above the murmuring. “Those who would boldly wreak havoc on the peace of our realm have been vanquished. We decree this evening a celebration in honor of the new Earl of Northumberland, and any who so wish may sup with us tonight!” A cheer went up from the crowd as the king descended from the throne and made his way through the adoring onlookers, sweeping from the room, attendants at his heels.
Samuel did not cheer as the king departed. He knew that this appointment would devastate Christopher. Now, more than ever, he had to find his family and take Kate to a safer haven, though where that might be he had no notion. Sir Julian was speaking with some men he did not recognize. The old knight had treated him like a son, and Samuel hated to leave his service, but he felt certain that his mentor would understand.
Shortly after, in a different, private room, the king’s brother, the Duke of Clarence, sat with the Bishop of Exeter sipping wine from pewter cups. Clarence, now nineteen years old, seemed unhappy. The bishop regarded him with his usual penetrating gaze.
“I see little reason for your mood, my lord,” he prodded the young duke. “It would appear to me that your brother’s hold on the throne has never been so secure, though I would not have expected it five years ago when we so boldly declared our intentions.” Not acknowledging the bishop, Clarence only withdrew further into himself. The cleric was not satisfied to leave it. “If I did not know better, I should guess that you’re displeased with the king.”
“What makes y
ou say that?”
The bishop knew that his arrow had struck the target. “Unlike your younger brother of Gloucester, who is joyous when the king is near, you are moody. I have seen the signs of jealousy before, my young friend, and the marks of it are on your soul.”
Clarence was defensive. “I have no reason to be jealous, Your Grace.”
The bishop was not convinced. “You were not raised with the king and Edmund, were you?”
“I did not have that honor,” he said bitterly.
“And you therefore felt set apart from them?” Goading him was easier than he had expected.
“I have the same blood in my veins as my dear brother, and yet he has treated me like any other of his followers. He has not entrusted me with any important duties or honors.”
“Such rewards must be earned, my lord.”
Clarence glared at him. “Not when you have royal blood in your veins! Were he to die tonight, I would be king.”
“That is true. But such a tragedy is unlikely. I should think that you would be better served enjoying your new rank and prestige as the king’s brother and a royal duke of the realm.”
“I shall determine how best to spend my time, Your Grace.” Finishing the wine in his cup, he poured himself more and drained another half. “And I tell you that if Edward expects me to be his errand boy, he had better think again of my worth, for I’ll not have it.”
“We are all errand boys to the king, my lord. Such is the way of things.” A page knocked on the door and entered.
“My lords, the king inquires after you both and craves your company.”
“We will come,” said the bishop, dismissing him with a wave.
“You go, Your Grace,” said Clarence. “My royal brother will dine most contentedly without me for a while.”
“As you wish, my lord. But a word to the wise: A man’s strength is carried in the arms of his friends, not in his own hands.” The bishop paused for a moment to allow his warning to sink in, and left the young duke staring into his empty mug.
*
At about the time that the dignitaries were gathering at the palace, Sally was washing clothes at the riverbank. She had one eye on her washing and as usual the other on John, now three years old and, much to his mother’s distress, in constant motion. Recently, however, her new friend, Kate, had helped in so many valuable ways to ease her burdens. And John had developed a strong affection for Kate as well, to the point where Sally dreaded the thought of her ever leaving. But Kate’s presence also gave her great hope, for she knew that it was only a matter of time before Samuel would return to them, if only to take Kate away with him. And seeing Kate so well adjusted to her new surroundings might convince him to patch up his differences with Christopher and stay where he belonged.
The thought of Christopher spoiled her mood and she pounded a shirt hard against the washing rock. His departure had left Emma in a perpetual state of melancholy, so much so that Sally was concerned for her health. To be sure, she still cared for the girls and performed her chores as always, but it was habit that gave no joy as it used to, and even their conversations were brief and without warmth. Oliver had also been overwhelmed by the new responsibilities that had been so unexpectedly thrust upon him. Though he proved equal to the task, he resented the unnecessary burden.
“Sally!” Kate’s voice beckoned to her from the road. Sally looked up to see her waving and hurrying past the front gate. Sally put her last article of clothing in with the rest of the washed items and stood up slowly, stretching her tired back. “Sally!” Kate repeated as she drew near. “King Edward is here! At the palace,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
Sally understood well the significance. If the king was in town, Samuel was as well, and her heart leaped at the news. With Christopher gone, at least for a while, Samuel would feel welcome at home. His presence could even bring some happiness back to Emma.
“Did you hear me?” Kate shook her out of her reverie.
“Yes. Yes, we must get word to him somehow.”
“We’ll go to the palace ourselves,” said Kate. “I’ll bring these clothes in and tell Oliver. You bring John to Emma and I’ll meet you on the road. Don’t just stand there, woman!” Pushing Sally toward John, who was playing near the river bank, she grabbed up the clothes basket and hurried toward the mill room where she knew she would find Oliver.
Oliver insisted on joining them. There was nothing in the milling business that day that he considered more important. Kate waited impatiently as he disengaged the huge wheel and secured it, then placed several full sacks of milled wheat in carefully arranged areas so he could keep track of where each one belonged. Just when Kate was at the end of her patience, he nodded that he was ready. Swinging the front door open, he saw standing before him a large man with a hideous scar down the side of his face that disfigured his mouth into a permanent sneer. With him was another man, face obscured by a full beard and mustache, dressed in filthy clothing and holding several lengths of rope. They appeared to have been traveling for weeks. Without warning, the filthy one pulled a short club from his cloak and struck Oliver on the side of the head. He fell to the ground unconscious.
Kate screamed and tried to catch him as he fell, but Sir Hugh was on her almost as quickly, putting his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. Before he could get a secure grip his hand came too close and she bit his finger with all her strength. He screamed and struck her on the chin. She collapsed to the ground in a heap. He gripped his hand in agony while his partner stooped to look at the girl.
“If she’s dead, we won’t be paid!”
“She’s not dead, you idiot,” he hissed. “Keep your mouth shut and bind her.” Responding to the commotion, Sally came running through the door. Recognizing Sir Hugh, and seeing Kate and Oliver motionless on the ground, she started screaming and turned to run. Sir Hugh leaped to catch her before she could bolt, and after a momentary struggle managed to tie a rag around her mouth.
“This is a pleasant surprise!” he said, voice dripping with venom. “I had not hoped to see you again, my sweet.”
“You know this wench?” his partner asked in surprise.
“Oh yes. We’re old friends, aren’t we, my dear?” He pushed her toward his partner. “Bind her well and get them both on the horses.”
“What are we doing with this one? We’ll have our hands full enough with one.”
Sir Hugh grabbed him roughly by the tunic. “Do as I say or I’ll gut you like an eel.”
Not doubting Sir Hugh for a moment, he swung Kate over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Securing her over the back of one of the two horses that were waiting by the river bank, he came back and did the same with Sally. Sir Hugh took a last look around and then mounted his own horse. As they spurred their horses toward the road, Emma ran to the mill house and saw Oliver unconscious on the floor. Frantically searching for Sally and Kate, she heard horses as they came around the front of the mill house. Running out, she saw Sally still struggling, bound across the horse’s back. Screaming Sally’s name, she chased after them, but only in time to see them ride out on the road and disappear to the south. Falling to her knees, she could only sob hysterically as the sun set in the west.
*
Samuel reached the mill house two hours later. He had hoped to see Sally and Emma, speak civilly with Christopher for a while, and then take Kate somewhere where they could be safe. Perhaps things would go well enough for him to spend a comfortable night here with Kate before taking their leave in the morning. Seeing the mill house brought a sense of pride to him, as hearing the news of his family’s good business had done earlier in the day when he inquired of them. Think what he may about Christopher, this was an accomplishment, and Samuel was once again jealous of his brother. Perhaps with Kate he could find this kind of happiness somewhere.
He knocked softly. There was no answer and he became concerned when he heard the sound of children crying from within. When there was no response to his second knock, he decided to try the pull string. He felt the latch lift from the inside and swung the door open.
The room was mostly dark, a taper on the eating table providing the only light. No fire smoldered in the hearth. Very strange for Emma to allow that, Samuel thought. It was then that he saw them, on the floor by the hearth. A figure sat cradling the head of another, like the Madonna with the crucified Christ in her arms. A cold shiver crawled up his spine.
“Emma? What happened here? Where’s Kate?” He was not even sure that she heard him as she stared vacantly into space. “Emma!” he shook her shoulders. She blinked and looked at him, trying to focus as if waking from a deep sleep.
“Samuel? Is it really…” He could hardly hear her.
“Yes, Emma. Where’s Kate?” He was frantic with fear for Kate but could see that it would be fruitless to push her any harder.
“Oh, Samuel. She’s gone. They’re all gone.” And with that she broke into sobs. Now terrified with apprehension, Samuel turned his attention to Oliver. He had a nasty lump on the left side of his head but was at least breathing. Samuel wondered for a moment how Emma got him in the house, then saw a bucket of water near the cooking area and, ripping a swath of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, dipped it into the bucket and began to wipe blood from the wound.
“Who are you?” Samuel almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice. A small boy stood bravely before him, watching him with large innocent deep brown eyes, clutching a coverlet in his hands.
“My name is Samuel. Who are you?” he asked gently as he continued his attempts to revive Oliver.
“I’m John. What’s wrong with Daddy?”
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