The Beggar's Throne

by David Francis

  Hastings, who had remained with the remnants of the guard since the king’s capture, had raised about a hundred archers from nearby towns, still no match for the earl’s small army. Only a surprise could even the odds, and the woods made that possible. While Nigel and Hastings huddled in a tent devising a strategy, Sir Julian, who had no mind for such things, preferring instead to meet an enemy honorably on an open field, found Samuel for a talk. They sat beneath an enormous oak that dominated the road.

  “Thank you, Sir Julian. I am pleased to see you all again. I only wish that Kate and my sister were safe. Concern for them saps my resolve for these matters.”

  “You needn’t explain yourself to me, lad. I know these have been difficult times for you, and, God knows, I’ve tried to help when I could.”

  “Please don’t think me ungrateful. I will never forget what you’ve done for us. But I’m just one man of thousands to the king, but to my family…” He found himself unable to finish, caught by the irony of his situation. After all, it was he who had avoided his family for three years.

  Sir Julian fidgeted with his thick white beard. “The realm has not been healthy for many years, lad. Probably not since the Lancastrians first usurped the throne from Richard II some seventy years ago. Since then, the noble houses have feuded for any advantage, and those who have been the most successful have paid the dearest price. You can take some solace in that, for the pain that they’ve caused you.”

  “Unless Kate and Sally are returned to us safely, I can take solace in nothing.”

  The old knight nodded in understanding.

  “Sir Julian,” a voice came from behind. Oliver approached from the camp. The sun was setting behind him, and his protruding ears cast shadows along the sides of his narrow face. “Sir Julian,” he repeated. “Lord Hastings requests that you join him in his tent.” The old knight sighed and lifted his ample body heavily from the forest floor.

  “You should both get a good rest this night,” he said as he brushed the dust and leaves from his leggings. “Tomorrow we tangle with Warwick, and we shall need all our wits about us.

  Oliver took the spot next to the old oak that the knight had vacated.

  “I don’t want to be here either, Oliver,” Samuel said, noting his friend’s unease. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

  “Nor do I, so you needn’t mind me. And for God’s sake, if you start to blame yourself for all of this again, I’ll not listen.”

  “Who else could I blame?” Samuel said bitterly. “If I hadn’t sent Kate to you, you’d be safe in York right now with Sally and the children by your side.”

  “You haven’t learned anything, have you, Samuel? Are you so full of yourself that you assume that all the world waits upon your actions? Our decisions shape our lives. It’s who we are. If we can’t change what has passed, it’s pointless to dwell on it. All you can do is remember and learn.”

  Samuel looked up at the green leaves and watched as the setting sun cast the last rays of the day.

  “Perhaps,” he said after a moment. “But living with past mistakes also requires that we atone for them in the end.”

  “Only if you accept that they were mistakes in the first place. I see no such flaw in your past actions.”

  Samuel began to feel the fatigue of the long road. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “You’re a good friend, Oliver,” his voice became slurred.

  Oliver watched as Samuel slowly drifted into sleep, taking his cloak and gently putting it over him. Events had indeed been cruel, he thought, and he wondered if it were their fate to die in the morning, in the impossible attempt to capture Sir Hugh and extract their women’s location from him. If so, he knew his soul would never rest, and at that moment, he knew exactly how Samuel felt.

  *

  In the morning they were awakened by the morning watch, the camp already alive with activity. Some of Nigel’s men had returned with news that Warwick’s column had camped only a few hours away and would soon be upon them. No cooking fires were lit and Hastings and Sir Julian arranged the men into two groups, the guardsmen in one group with half the archers, and the remaining archers in another, to be commanded by Hastings.

  Sir Julian arrived, already fitted in his armor, a page by his side carrying his family colors.

  “Samuel, I ask that you join the guard and myself. We are the ones who will most likely cross swords with Sir Hugh.” Samuel nodded tightly and, suddenly feeling fully awake, set about organizing his quiver. “Oliver, you must quiet the horses while we spring our surprise on the earl.”

  Oliver nodded his agreement.

  Sir Julian motioned them to join his group where the men waited. The first group to move was Lord Hastings’ archers. He led them out of camp on foot and, to Samuel’s surprise, directly away from the road, onto a narrow and ill-defined footpath that they followed in single file, dodging low branches and thick underbrush all the way. When the last of them were gone, the guard and several dozen archers began to dig themselves into places of concealment.

  When he had everyone where he wanted, Sir Julian went from group to group giving them directions. Oliver was placed well down the footpath where Hastings had led his men, holding three horses by their reins and comforting them into silence. They were the only horses in camp, except for the one Hastings rode at the head of his column. When Sir Julian was satisfied that everyone knew their role, he found a place of close concealment for himself directly between the guard and the archers stretched out along the footpath.

  *

  The Earl of Warwick, the Archbishop of York, and the Duke of Clarence rode directly behind the vanguard of their column, feeling reasonably comfortable now that they were approaching Middleham Castle, which was only another day’s ride. The earl made a mental note that he would have Edward sign an order to make a priority of improving the roads between Warwick and Middleham, his two favorite castles.

  Edward rode several hundred yards behind, bound to his horse and guarded by Sir Hugh and, behind them, the remaining few hundreds of his column. Warwick would soon have the king safely ensconced at Middleham, where he would decide the king’s fate, just as he had when he created him king. He watched as the vanguard entered the deep copse and called for his mounted messenger.

  “Ride to the captain and warn him to be vigilant through these trees.”

  “Yes, my lord,” he replied and was gone.

  “I’ve never seen you so edgy, Richard,” said the archbishop. “If I didn’t know better, I would suspect that these proceedings are beginning to take their toll on you.”

  “I’ll feel well enough when we get to Middleham. But there is much to be done and I must have more support.”

  “I’m sure Lord Fitzwalter’s men will be with us soon.”

  “Yes,” Warwick nodded, “but we both know that if John were to join us, the battle would be won.” The Earl of Northumberland had not answered any further communications, but they still had hopes that he would side with his family and raise armies in the north. Perhaps when he saw that Edward was securely under Warwick’s control, John would have no choice.

  “At least it appears that he has not raised troops against us, or we would have known by now,” replied Clarence.

  The vanguard had been swallowed up by the woods and they themselves were now entering its fringes. The trees thickened quickly as they went on, blotting out the early morning sun.

  Further back in the column, Sir Hugh placed the king directly in front of himself. When the road was straight, he could see the earl and his party riding well ahead of his position, but most of the time only a few hundred feet of the road were visible. Behind him, hundreds of footsoldiers followed, laboring through the thick mud that lay deep on the road. Suddenly the dreaded sound of arrows whizzing through the air ass
ailed his ears.

  So unexpected was the strike that Sir Hugh could not identify from which direction the airborne death was coming until the next volley fell on them. The arrow from that volley that would have killed him bounced harmlessly off the breastplate of his armor, but the path around him was already littered with dead soldiers. Screaming for support from the soldiers in the rear guard, he knew that a third volley was already on its way. Quickly dismounting, he avoided two arrows that sailed directly through the space that he had just vacated. His horse, however, was not so lucky. Taking an arrow deep in the ribs, it reared in agony and then fell thunderously to the ground.

  It was then that he finally saw the enemy. A small group burst from the woods on the opposite side from where the arrows had come. They wore the Sun-in-Splendor emblem of the king’s personal guard, and Sir Hugh knew that these were formidable fighters. He drew his sword and prepared for the attack, but instead, they seized the king’s horse and fled into the woods.

  “After them!” Sir Hugh’s scar turned vivid red with anger. The attack had been so precisely executed that very few of the hundreds of men in Warwick’s column even knew of the strike, much less had been able to help. “After them, you fools!” he screamed again. But as the soldiers ran into the woods, they were cut down by renewed arrow strikes, and made no progress forward until new waves of soldiers were brought up from the rear. Sir Hugh could see the archers peeling off further down the path that had swallowed the king, and knew that they would soon be out of reach. It was then that he spotted Samuel among the archers in the trees. He was not accustomed to being the hunted, especially when the hunter was one that he should have seen hanging from the gallows long ago. Hiding behind the carcass of his horse, he frantically ordered the soldiers into the face of the wilting enemy fire.

  Samuel had picked his targets carefully. With his first shot he killed the footsoldier closest to the king, and then looked to find Sir Hugh. At this range he could easily have ended the devil’s life but knew that he would never find Kate if he did so. Instead, as he was instructed, he killed another soldier near the king. With his third shot, however, he wanted to bring Sir Hugh to the ground. He aimed at the hinged area between the plates of his horse’s armor and let loose a precision shot that found its target. An instant later he stared horrified as Sir Hugh dropped off the side of the horse just before it went down — had one of his fellows shot him? After a moment, Samuel saw he was still alive. It would take more than a chance arrow to kill such a person.

  The guardsmen on the other side of the road made their bold attack and charged past Samuel with the king. Sir Julian gave the order to begin falling back, and when Samuel saw the reinforcements gathering, he knew that he was not going to have his conversation with Sir Hugh on that day. He fell back with the rest of the archers along the path and then began to run through the woods with the others. They broke out into a clearing and immediately saw the rest of Hastings’ plan. There, on the other side of the clearing, were several dozen archers protected by the trees. The guardsmen crossed the clearing and took up position behind them, and the earl’s men who ran into the clearing after them were slaughtered by the dozen. They broke and retreated.

  Knowing that it would take time for them to regroup, the guard vanished into the woods to a prearranged meeting place, where it would have taken a miracle for the earl’s men to find them. Further past the clearing where the carnage had taken place, Oliver was holding three horses, as was his charge, when two mounted members of the king’s guard came trotting down the path leading Edward’s horse by the reins. The guardsmen helped the king from his horse and cut the ropes that bound his hands.

  “Oliver,” said Edward with a smile. “We are glad to find you well.”

  “I thank Your Highness, and am joyed to see you delivered from your enemies.” At that moment, Sir Julian, Hastings, and Nigel came running down the trail with several more guardsmen.

  “Sire, we must be gone. Warwick will surely pursue and we are still greatly outnumbered.”

  “Where will we go, William?” asked Edward.

  “I suggest we make all speed for London, where we will fortify ourselves and reclaim what is rightfully yours, my lord.”

  Edward nodded and remounted his horse, while Hastings, Sir Julian, and Nigel mounted the horses that Oliver had held.

  “We hope to see you again in better times, Oliver,” Edward said kindly. The former page bowed and the king’s party was gone.

  *

  Back at the road, Sir Hugh returned from his search of the woods, mortified by what had happened and dreading having to make his report to the earl. Warwick was impatiently waiting with the archbishop and Clarence.

  “Well?” he asked sharply.

  “My lord,” said the knight, “we continue the search, but the woods are deep and archers hide behind every tree.”

  “Fool!” hissed Warwick. “You let them take the king right out of your hands.”

  “There was little that I could do, my lord. The attack was well planned.” Sir Hugh knew the earl was right, and that he had failed miserably to dispatch his duty. A rider came galloping up the path from the south.

  “My lord, you must flee! The Duke of Gloucester has raised an army and is moving quickly to where you tarry.”

  Warwick could not have been more surprised. He had been given no news that the king’s other brother was raising an army. He had underestimated the young duke.

  “How strong is he?” he asked quietly.

  “Their number was not reported to me, my lord, except that they are from the Welsh marches and make their way here with haste.”

  Welshmen. He shuddered to think of the fierce fighters who had been unfailingly loyal to the House of York, a fact that had given him great comfort in the days when he had also been a Yorkist supporter.

  “We must make quickly for Middleham,” said Clarence. “We will be safe enough there until we can raise more men. If my brother can raise an army, then so can I.”

  “From behind castle walls that are besieged by the king’s men?” The archbishop was amazed by the duke’s stupidity.

  Warwick was brooding on his horse, stunned by the rapid turn of events. An hour ago he was the master of the realm; now he was but hours from losing his life to the headsman. Of course, his brother was right. To retreat behind the walls of Middleham would secure their safety, but while they were holed up in fear for their lives, the king would secure the throne and have them declared outlaws. None of the noble families would come to their aid in such a state, and it would only be a matter of time before they were Edward’s prisoners.

  “We have only one course left to us,” he said at last. “We must flee to France. Louis will not deny me, and I am still the captain of Calais. We can land safely there.”

  “We’ll be attainted and lose everything,” Clarence objected.

  “Louis will give us aid to retake the kingdom, and then we can reverse any attainder. It is our only hope.” His manner made it clear that he would not entertain any further discussion on the topic.

  “I agree,” said the archbishop, “you must go. But I will remain here. My office will protect me from the king’s wrath, and though I’ll be closely watched, I can be of greater assistance to you here while I await your return. But now you must make haste, as many preparations must be made for your passage to France before the king has time to regain control.”

  Warwick nodded and spurred his horse to the north. As he rode with the few men that remained of his escort, he glanced through the woods that had swallowed up his great prize, and allowed bitterness to grip his mind. Think not, Edward, that this is how it will end. I will not be so easily deprived of my destiny.

  Sir Hugh was equally angry. He was to have been the earl’s trusted assistant. Now he could only follow an outlaw to a foreign land. Remem
bering the face of the miller’s son among the guard during this attack, hatred consumed him. The miller’s women were safely bestowed, he thought, and Colinsworth will not dare release them, on his life. No, I will have my revenge for this day, be assured of that, young guardsman, and all your arrows will not save you.

  *

  That evening, a cool spring night in York, Emma sang a gentle song to Alice, easing her youngest into sleep. Sarah and John shared the back room nearest the mill and had put themselves to bed. They were old enough to see how difficult times were for Emma and were doing their best to shoulder burdens that were never meant to be borne by ones so young. Still only four and five, John and Alice spent the day cleaning the winter’s debris from the vegetable garden that would soon need to be planted with the early lettuce, carrots, and radishes.

  Emma snuggled the blanket around Alice and gently kissed her cheek. The girl was developing her mother’s round face, but her hair was dark, like her father’s. Emma moved to the cooking area, where there was still a small flame in the hearth to provide some heat in the room, and began her usual routine of preparing the maslin for the next day’s bread. This mixture of rye and barley was a favorite of the children, probably because it was such a common part of their diet. Doing her household chores gave her a sense of continuity, and therefore comfort, that she sorely needed these days.

  She stopped abruptly when she heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps approaching the door. Ever since Sally and Kate’s abduction, she feared anything that came through that door. The steps stopped and someone pulled the latchstring. The door swung open and Christopher stood on the threshold.

  At first Emma was so stunned she could not move. Christopher stepped inside, so obviously exhausted that his knees almost buckled from the exertion.