They all poured from the tent to see Sir Nigel approach. It was Samuel that the knight addressed first after dismounting.
“My heart is full to see you here, my friend.”
“My family?” he asked.
“They are safe.” Turning to Sir Julian, he said, “There is a herald here for the king, from Clarence.”
“Go,” Sir Julian ordered Stanley. “Announce us to Lord Hastings.” Stanley ran off toward the king’s tent as the rest began their slow walk behind him. “Does Clarence ask for our surrender?” he asked Sir Nigel.
“I have never known him to bring welcome tidings.”
When they arrived at the king’s tent, Edward and Hastings stood waiting with members of the guard around him. It was important that a herald from the enemy be shown strength. The herald went to one knee.
“Your Majesty, I bring greetings from your loving brother, the noble Duke of Clarence, who asks the favor of a private meeting before the sun sets this evening.”
“Where does our brother wish to meet us?” Edward tried to keep his hopes from rising lest they be dashed again by his inconstant brother.
“Sire, he is camped with his following not four miles to the north. He begs that you meet him halfway between.”
Hastings had an uneasy feeling. “Sire, I have seen traps set with more caution. If the duke wishes to speak, let him come here himself.”
Edward remembered his sister’s request.
“Go and tell our brother that we will meet him there now.” The herald bowed deeply and rode away as quickly as he had arrived. “We are not in a position to let any opportunity pass, regardless of the danger. Inform our brother of Gloucester that we require his company. You and Sir Julian will also accompany us with the guard.”
“Sire, allow me to bring more men.”
“No, William, we shall face our brother alone.”
An hour later, the king’s party waited in a broad meadow between the camps. Hastings watched the field for any signs of treachery. Sir Julian also kept a sharp look, though if Clarence were planning an ambush, this broad and open field would not make an ideal place. Four riders approached from the north, one carrying the Duke of Clarence’s colors. Edward prepared himself for the worst, expecting Clarence to brashly demand his capitulation in exchange for clemency. To his surprise, Clarence dismounted and knelt.
“My Liege,” said Clarence loudly, “I beg forgiveness and wish to once again serve Your Highness, if you will have me.”
Edward leapt from his horse and pulled his brother to his feet.
“These are the words of a true brother! My heart had not dared hope to see this day.” He embraced him firmly.
“To atone for my past transgressions, I present you with my army, four thousand strong and ready to die for their true sovereign.”
“My lords,” Edward addressed his party, “come and embrace gentle Clarence, for he has our full pardon, and is once again our brother!” Gloucester was the first to obey, smiling broadly.
“Welcome, Clarence. I think I shall never be so happy again as I am at this moment.”
After Hastings had also embraced him, Edward put an arm around his shoulders.
“Come!” he said jovially. “Send for your men, and you shall dine with us this happy night.” Clarence joined the king’s party as they rode back to camp. “Sir Julian! Ride before us and spread the news to the men, for this will gladden their hearts as it has ours.”
“As you wish, Sire,” said Sir Julian, spurring his horse into a gallop. Knowing Clarence as he did, it only made sense that such a greedy man would feel more secure as the king’s brother than as a pawn of Warwick under Lancastrian Henry. And with Clarence’s army, the odds were now almost even.
*
“Flee from my sight, you dog, or I’ll have you flogged!” The Earl of Warwick was red-faced with anger. The messenger ran from the tent, leaving Montagu and Warwick alone. The news of Clarence’s treachery had left them desperate. “My guts told me to keep a closer eye on him, but I never thought he could debase his arrogant self before Edward.”
Montagu, whose own treachery had made Warwick’s success possible a few months before, knew they had no time for regret. “Calm yourself, Richard, and forget about what has been done. Edward is only a day’s march from here and we had better be ready when we meet, or this time our heads will surely pay the price for our tardiness. We still have superior numbers and will prevail.” Warwick’s captain entered.
“If I may, my lord?” Warwick testily nodded. “Word has arrived by post that the queen and Prince of Wales have landed and are gathering an army in Cornwall and Devonshire. The news is one week old, my lord.”
“Thank you, captain. Return to your post.” The captain bowed and left. “This at least is comforting news. Soon many will hear of the queen’s arrival and flock to our cause, knowing that Edward is trapped between two armies with no hope. Come, let’s make preparations to leave at first light, and find the poor pretender and my wayward son-in-law, for I shall no longer brook these children of York on English soil.”
*
The news of Clarence’s shift of allegiance had indeed brought new life to Edward’s army. Sir Julian could see hope where before there had been only grim determination, boisterous behavior where before men had sat silently in small groups.
Samuel, Oliver, and Stanley spent the evening together speaking of things that had nothing to do with kings and wars. For that evening, safe and warm before the small cookfire, they told stories of their childhoods and tried to squeeze a lifetime of friendship into the hours before dawn. Nigel and Sir Julian spent the night listening to their scouts , who crept close to the enemy’s positions, carefully counting fires and horses.
The next evening, just before sunset, Warwick and his army arrived at Barnet, and by that time Edward was eager to settle the score with his cousin. Knowing that Warwick would array his men and wait for morning, Edward decided to move first. His generals assembled outside his tent.
“My lords, we will move into position this very night under the cover of darkness, so that in the morning Warwick will find an army already within arrowshot ready to defy his arrogance. Inform everyone to make no noise and light no fires, and by God’s will we shall give them a sharp surprise at daybreak. Ourself and Clarence will take the center, Gloucester the right flank, and Hastings shall command the left. We shall all fight on foot.”
His last command was understood by everyone. It meant that nobility and common soldiers would fight as one, and they would live or die together. It suited them well.
The lords joined their separate commands and began to organize the men. Sir Julian and the guard would fight with the king. As the guard prepared themselves, Samuel approached his old teacher.
“Sir Julian, I wish to resume my post.”
Sir Julian hardly recognized the young man whom he had taught to be a formidable soldier.
“You are too weak, lad, and will only get yourself killed. Stay in my tent and get some rest.”
“Lord Hastings will not deny me if I ask him.”
“For God’s mercy, lad, you haven’t your strength back. Don’t be eager to toss your life away.”
“Sir Hugh may be out there,” he said. The old knight sighed sadly.
“Very well, but listen to me: You’re a member of the king’s guard and will obey every command I issue just like every other guardsman. If you endanger the king’s life or any of your mates by running off on your own again, I’ll take you down myself. Is that clear?” Samuel averted his eyes.
“Yes.”
*
Edward’s army crawled its way along the road north from Barnet toward the plateau where Warwick had arrayed his men. Able to see Warwick’s cookfires, Edward and his captains positio
ned their troops less than a mile from the enemy and settled in to wait for morning. Samuel and Stanley found a relatively dry hummock of tall grass. As Samuel huddled in, the fog began to thicken. He could hear the din of activity coming from the enemy camp and realized that only one of those thousands had ever done him any wrong. He was so tired that sleep would have been a godsend, but it did not come.
Finally, the orders were passed to make ready for battle, and the captains hurried from position to position with orders and encouragement. Sir Julian arranged the guard so that the swordsmen were on either side of the king, with archers flanking them. At daybreak, the new light illuminated the ghostly glow of a pea-soup fog that cut vision to a few feet and left Samuel and the other archers feeling useless. They stood and waited while the king prepared.
At last, the sound of the king’s trumpets split the fog, and the charge was sounded. Samuel and the other archers fired blindly into the mist, hoping that fate would do the rest, and King Edward’s army charged into the unknown.
*
On the right flank, the young Duke of Gloucester was commanding his first army in a military engagement, and at the first sound of the king’s trumpets he also ordered the archers to fire blindly and the rest to advance. As he walked forward with his men, he heard the clash of armor and blade against blade coming from what must have been the center columns off to his left, but found no one for his own men to fight. Continuing their advance, they found themselves marching down a steep slope into a marsh, but they found no enemy soldiers. And now the sounds of battle were coming from behind them.
Something was wrong. Gloucester ordered a halt to their advance, frustrated and claustrophobic in the dense fog. He called for his captain.
“How can this be?” he asked when the captain arrived.
“Your grace, I cannot understand it either. But it is clear that we no longer hold the plateau. Perhaps in the night we outflanked them.”
“If that is true, we can attack their rear.” Suddenly he was excited. It was possible that fate had unwittingly given them a huge advantage. “Order the men to march left and to climb back up the slope! And be prepared to engage any resistance.”
“Yes, your grace.” He disappeared again into the gloom.
*
When Warwick heard the first trumpets of the enemy, he could not believe that they were already hard upon his positions. But his personal guard and best fighting men were in the middle of the line and well prepared for the assault, even if they had expected to do the charging instead of reacting. The arrows that came out of the mist took a heavy toll, and he ordered his archers to return the fire. After recovering from the shock of the surprise attack, the middle of the line was holding firm. Warwick had heard nothing from either flank, the left commanded by his brother, Montagu, or the right under the command of the Earl of Oxford, and that concerned him, since he had instructed them both to send regular updates by mounted courier.
Montagu had sent his courier to report that he had not been attacked at all, but the message died when an arrow shot into the mist found the poor messenger’s back. Oxford, like the Duke of Gloucester on the other end of the battle front, found that during the night Edward’s army had misjudged the location of the Lancastrian line and as a result, his men were in a position to attack Edward’s left flank commanded by Hastings. But unlike Gloucester’s, his men were still on the plateau and could attack immediately.
In a short while, Hastings’ men were routed and fleeing for their lives toward the town of Barnet, and Edward’s army was in grave danger. Had the other segments of the battle line seen the disaster on their left, they might also have broken and fled, but the dense fog kept them from seeing anything but the slashing swords in their midst and they did not lose heart.
Meanwhile, Oxford’s men pursued the Yorkists into town and stayed on to loot the village, instead of turning to engage the center of Edward’s line.
*
Samuel had long ago left his bow, knowing that any blind shot into the mist now would be as likely to hit one of their own as an enemy, and was in the thick of the struggle with his short sword. He had already been wounded in the side and was bleeding. It was not long before his strength began to fail, and when it appeared safe to disengage he found a heap of bodies and sheltered himself among them, oblivious to the stench of gore and oozing blood. Panting hard, he struggled to regain his breath and found himself growing faint.
A pounding throb in his head roused him back to awareness. He blinked to clear his vision but the mist made it impossible to tell reality from delusion. When next he opened his eyes — it may have been some time later, he was not certain — he could see Sir Julian’s unmistakable armor, the old knight ferociously dealing blows to Lancastrian footsoldiers. He was fighting back to back with another guardsman Samuel did not recognize, and they appeared to be fine until the guardsman was struck down. Sir Julian was engaged by another at the time and in no position to watch his back, from where the soldier who had dispatched his partner attacked him. The double assault proved too much for the old knight and he fell in a large heap, ripe for a deadly final assault.
Samuel leaped to his feet, screaming in rage. In five strides he was running at full speed toward Sir Julian, who lay helpless in the blood-stained dirt. No thought passed through Samuel’s mind, only blind rage, which drove him headlong into the first soldier who was in turn driven into the other, all three crumbling to the ground. The wind was forced from Samuel’s lungs and he lost consciousness.
*
As Gloucester’s men finally swarmed over the top of the plateau, they found what they had hoped to see: the end of Warwick’s left flank, the still unengaged troops commanded by Montagu. When the Lancastrians saw Gloucester’s men streaming up the hill, urgent commands went out to reform the lines. But in the confusion they incurred heavy casualties. Montagu sent to Warwick for help.
Warwick knew there was great danger in the deadly assault to his left wing, and he committed the remainder of his reserves to help Montagu, a tactic that at least checked the duke’s advance and for the moment neutralized the threat. However, the collapse of the two left flanks had caused the entire battle line to spin on its center so that it was now entirely oriented to the north and south instead of east and west, and it was that quirk of fate that gave Edward an unexpected advantage.
The Earl of Oxford finally managed to reform his men and sent them marching north from Barnet, intending to attack Edward from the rear, an attack that would surely have ended the battle in favor of the Lancastrians. But the earl could not see that the battle line had been reoriented, and the men before him were not Edward’s rear guard but Warwick’s new left flank. When Warwick’s men saw Oxford approaching, in the mist they mistook his Star-and-Streamers insignia for Edward’s Sun-in-Splendor and unleashed a volley of deadly arrows.
Oxford’s men, thinking they had been betrayed, broke ranks and fled the field, shouting “Treason!” Oxford ran with them. When the confusion on the left flank was reported to Edward, he committed his entire reserves to that side of the line. Warwick’s ranks crumbled.
On the Lancastrian left, John Neville, the Marquis of Montagu, was struggling to contain Gloucester’s advance and was beginning to push him back when he heard shouts from behind. The center was collapsing. Turning to see what could be done, he found a soldier standing before him, battle-ax raised and poised to strike. There was no time to react before the blade descended on his shoulder, cleaving the armor and severing his spine. Crashing to the earth, he lay face-down in the mud, and death slowly claimed his body. Damn you, Richard. I have paid the price for your arrogance.
*
The Lancastrian line now in shambles, the ranks broke and fled, hotly pursued by the Yorkists. The news of his brother’s death was brought to Warwick by men fleeing the carnage on his left. Knowing that the day was lost, he fled into the w
oods at the base of the plateau where he had instructed his men to hold his horse.
“Quickly, my lord,” one shouted. “There are soldiers seeking blood everywhere!”
Seeing his captain, he smiled. “We will join the queen and fight another day, captain, I swear it.”
“Yes, my lord,” he responded without emotion and handed the reins to his master.
The woods exploded with Yorkist soldiers. The earl’s men fought hard but were overwhelmed, and when the killing stopped, Warwick and his captain lay dead on the rich soil of the forest floor. A shout of jubilation went up from the Yorkists.
*
Relieved of their armor, Edward and his brothers met at the royal tent and exchanged joyous embraces.
“The hand of God was with us here this day, my brothers, and we have much for which to be thankful.”
“It was a glorious victory, Sire,” said Gloucester.
“May such fortune grace your throne for many years, Sire,” added Clarence. He had fought bravely enough by the king’s side, and when the battle was won, he was relieved that he had chosen the right side and would once again take his place as one of the magnates of the kingdom. And now perhaps his brother would treat him with more respect. A page entered and knelt.
“Your Majesty, the herald has arrived with his counts.”
“Come,” Edward ushered his brothers out, “let us hear what the day has wrought.” They stepped from the tent to see Sir Julian and the herald, who had spent the early afternoon taking tallies of the dead. Earl Rivers and Lord Hastings were with them. They all cheered the king and saluted his victory. Behind the herald was a wagon, held by several soldiers. The back of the wagon was covered with a dark wool blanket.
The Beggar's Throne Page 43