The Crown of Destiny (The Yorkist Saga)

by Diana Rubino

  Bridgeman relinquished his grip on Clifford's earlobe and Clifford reached out to Topaz, who extended a hand, allowing him to slobber over it, obviously his idea of a kiss. "Thank you, my lady. You have spared me most graciously."

  "Oh, no!" Topaz snatched her hand away. "One moment more, Lord Clifford! In your case I have but one condition."

  "Anything, anything, but let me live." He clasped his hands as if in prayer. "Release me! Please!"

  "Come with me to my tent."

  Clifford registered a look of nonplussed but obvious pleasure as Topaz clasped him by the wrist and led him, like a prized palfrey, to her tent. Vogts followed closely, trailed by an equally bewildered Bridgeman.

  "What has she got in mind?" Bridgeman wondered out loud.

  "I know not, but whatever it is, I would like to watch!" Vogts replied. "I, er...I should ensure the lady's safety." He hurried after them.

  Clifford left the camp shortly afterwards. Vogts, Topaz, and Bridgeman watched, helpless with mirth as Clifford took his place at the head of the few hundred men on foot that chose to leave with him. The men were unarmed, some wounded and limping, all with bowed heads, a defeated army.

  Clifford stared straight ahead, making eye contact with no one, trying to muster some dignity, for he was dressed in full court jester's regalia, bells jingling with every jolt of his horse's canter.

  Topaz's men jibed and taunted in a general uproar of hilarity. Clifford's face was purple with suppressed rage as he passed Topaz.

  "We bid you farewell now, Lord Fool Clifford!" Topaz shouted merrily. "I do hope we'll not meet again, I'm not so kind when ired. You fought me to avoid wearing those togs of office and spilt the blood of your own followers to spare embarrassment. Ponder that as you leave me, twice embarrassed, beaten by a wench in battle, and adorned now in most fitting garb. No other office could be better suited to a man of your qualities. Now get ye hence before my good counsel persuade me yet to override my own compassion and put you to the sword!"

  Clifford's column slowly disappeared over the hilltop and they all breathed a sigh of relief.

  That night Topaz and her army indulged in a wild celebration, the rationing rules broken with the added spoils of Clifford's supplies. Ale, cider and wine flowed round the campfire, and there was much dancing and singing as they recounted the battle and their great victory, as it was being called.

  Late that night under the full moon, so unlike that dark moonless night in the cove, Topaz and Vogts recounted the day's events.

  "Towton! You might yet make a general, Lady Topaz," Vogts admiringly complimented his benefactress. "That fair head of yours holds a soldier's wits. Towton!"

  "Saint Albans, Northampton, Wakefield, Barnet and Tewkesbury, too. Don't forget. I know them all!" Topaz replied proudly.

  "Marseilles!"

  "What happened there?" Topaz said, leaning toward him with interest. "A big battle? Tell me!"

  He flashed a grin. "'Twas where I first kissed a beautiful woman, Lady Topaz, and I'd sooner show you than tell!"

  He leaned forward, meeting her exactly halfway, where she stole a quick glance over at the sleeping Bridgeman, a flagon having fallen between his legs, ale seeping out, soaking his breeches.

  Topaz looked directly into Vogts' eyes, a deep teal, smoky in the glowing embers of the campfire, and their lips met briefly, fleetingly. She pulled away and pressed her palms lightly on his chemay, feeling the contours of his muscled chest underneath.

  "Let us retire to our respective tents now, Franz. We've got a kingdom to win. There will be time enough for pleasures once I am queen."

  His eyes glowed appreciatively. "The sooner the better, then. But I do not wish to deprive the kingdom. I must put their desires before my own."

  "Aye, and we all need our beauty sleep."

  "It doesn't seem to do Bridgeman much good."

  Bridgeman emitted a loud snore as Topaz and Vogts parted company for the evening, giggling.

  The march south continued the next day with a jaunty confidence that gained new followers along the way. Every day as they progressed south, hundreds of common folk left their fields and marched alongside. There were plenty of weapons to arm the new recruits, all taken from Clifford after the battle.

  Oxen pulled the heavy cannon won in the fight and the supplies that they had taken from Clifford's well-provided train. By the time they reached the outskirts of Northampton, the army numbered almost thirteen thousand, and Topaz was more jubilant with every passing mile, especially when the time was spent in company with Vogts.

  At long last, she was taking action, and it was all fair easier than she had ever imagined. With every step, she reflected on how much closer she was drawing to the crown of destiny. She could almost feel it upon her head already…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Whitehall Palace

  "So what did we win in the fight, what spoils did we gain?" Henry asked Norfolk as soon as the worried Duke entering the presence chamber with yet another armload of maps.

  The Duke shook his head in abject misery. "'Tis scarcely credible, sire. Topaz's unskilled ranks have routed Clifford's army."

  "Routed?" Henry repeated blankly.

  "He was captured and made to look a fool, literally, motley, bells and all! His men are scattered, injured, dead or turned traitor, and Topaz and her minions are even now marching south upon Northampton."

  Henry grunted and grabbed an apple, biting into it savagely. He said around mouthfuls of masticated pulp, "'Twas a dire mistake to send Lord Clifford. He was too inexperienced. A better soldier would have done it easily. Let me think."

  He pressed his palm against his head, trying furiously to remember one of the many names that always seemed to escape him. "Aha! That good knight! Sir Cecil Hampstead! An older man with well-won battle scars, a fighter I can trust. Send him at the head of your own men. You can muster fifteen thousand with ease.

  "When Clifford pulls himself back together and gathers what's left of his men fit to fight, he can join Hampstead. We'll have near two to one in our favor. See how the would-be queen likes those odds! Aye, send out the word, we have decided. The honor goes to Hampstead, while Clifford gets a chance of redemption. This time they'd better get it right or I'll do the job myself!"

  At that moment Amethyst was just walking through the door to ask the King where he cared to sup that evening. She clutched the doorframe for support when she heard his words, not tinged with the slightest hint of humor this time.

  Norfolk turned his head in her direction and gave a slight bow of recognition. He stammered a few parting words to the King and backed out of the chamber.

  She stood aside to let him pass, and watched as Henry unrolled a map. He plunked a pitcher on its edge to keep it down, and leaned over on his elbows to study it, following a route with his golden toothpick.

  She daren't interrupt him now. Later, after a full meal, she could make him listen to reason. She took a few steps back, crept along the wall, and was just backing out the door when his voice thundered through the chamber.

  "Amethyst! Stay you here. I've already seen you. Norfolk can blend in with the walls, but you, not quite," he said, still hunched over the map, his eyes following the trail his toothpick was leaving.

  She tried to peer over to see just how close to London the toothpick was.

  "Sire, you're busy. I did not mean to interrupt. We shall talk after we sup."

  He tossed the gold pick aside and stood straight. The map rolled up with the toothpick inside it like a frog's tongue catching a fly.

  He sat in one of the matching chairs by the fire and motioned her to take the other.

  His steward brought another wine pitcher, poured the King a gobletful, and disappeared.

  "Wine?"

  "Nay."

  "Fruit? Pastry?"

  "Nay, I thank you," she said with a shake of her head.

  "A romp then?"

  She shook her head again and looked him in the eye. He was starin
g into the fire, and she could tell by the furrow of his brow and the cock of his head that had she said yes to a romp, he'd have wordlessly taken her to bed, used her, and dismissed her just as quickly to go back to his maps.

  She knew, just as they all did, that this uprising was no longer something to jest about. "Sire, you don't really plan on suiting up and riding out to battle, do you?"

  "That may as well have been me wearing a fool's cap with jingle bells for all the good Clifford made us look, the silly catzo!" he rasped.

  "Your personally riding out to battle would be rather extreme, would it not?" She knew how Henry loved his tournaments and jousting. Perhaps this was just another exercise to him, on a much larger scale, of course, but practice nonetheless; an excuse to escape the stuffy palace and partake in outdoor sport. "Not to mention your leg—"

  "Bah. The doctors do well enough with it for me to ride."

  "I wish you wouldn't go, sire. We... I need you here."

  He took a long swig of wine and looked at her. His features softened and a smile curled his lips. He flung the remaining contents of his goblet into the fire and dropped it onto the rug, holding out his other hand to her. She slid ever so gently onto his lap and he began kissing her.

  She tried to forget Topaz and her army, the King's growing preoccupation with it all, and enjoy the feel of his hands through her hair and his lips on her neck.

  Yet all the while her mind whirred. She had to stop him from heading north. She didn't believe he was really in danger, but his leg was still ulcerated and his strange fits of temper could well make the situation that much worse than it already was.

  Only she knew how to handle Topaz. If it were up to her, she would seize and arrest her. A few years' stay in a sparse Tower cell would bring her to her senses. Armies and political campaigns and cannon fire were not the answer. The country would be torn apart once again by civil war as it had been during the Wars of the Roses, and that she could never allow.

  She wanted a peaceful end to all this, but as she tried to focus on Henry's lovemaking, she wondered if perhaps it was already too late. It was clear that he wanted to forge ahead without heeding a bit of her advice.

  "Sire, you're not going, are you? Tell me you won't go."

  "Go where?" One hand cupped her breast, walking her slowly through a field of warm, gentle bliss. The other was under her skirts and slowly sliding up her thigh.

  She threw her head back, pulled out her combs and let her hair tumble as he nibbled at her neck while his hands teased her to a mounting fit of desire.

  "Go... to stop the uprising," she breathed, as he slid her undergarments down to around her ankles and turned her so that she straddled him. She instinctively moved against his mounting erection, her body flooding with warm moistness.

  "The only uprising is 'twixt my legs, and I am helpless to try to stop it even if I wanted to."

  He brought them both to their feet and whisked her into his arms, through the presence chamber, and into the bedchamber. They tugged at each other's clothes until both were completely naked.

  Their joining was hungry, frantic and, despite herself, she felt a chill grow through her at the thought that might be the last time they would ever be together thus.

  When they lay spent, he held her in his arms until the room grew dark, and the muffled voices of some of the staff approached.

  He reached over and pulled the bed curtain closed as she began fondling him. Just then Norfolk's voice came through from a few rooms' distance.

  "Sire?"

  "Not now, Norfolk. I'm handling another uprising." He kissed her hungrily, and all her fears melted away as molten desire pooled through her once more.

  Northamptonshire

  "Disturbing news, my Lady!" Bridgeman rode up to Topaz, sending swirls of dust up from the parched ground like a sea of funnels.

  "Pray tell!" Topaz yanked on her reins and her mount began grazing on a patch of brown grass.

  Vogts reined his mount alongside her, frowning.

  "Those men of Wakefield that joined up today."

  "Aye? What of them?" interjected Vogts, an abrasive edge to his tone. "They seemed to be good hearted youths, all barrel chests and sturdy, ready to give good account of themselves in any fight. I'm glad to have 'em."

  "'Tis what they brought that worries me!" Bridgeman continued, his eyes darting about to observe who was within earshot.

  "Plague!" Topaz' fluttering hands dropped her reins. "The plague is among us?"

  "Lord, no!" Bridgeman assured her. "Not yet, at least. But sure enough there is a plague of kinds about to fall upon us. Its name is Clifford! Re-armed he is, and devout in the pursuit of his vengeance. I'll spare repeating what he plans to do to you, my lady, should he succeed in capturing your royal person! That is the news those Wakefield lads brought with them."

  "Well, he'll have to get by me and my sword first!" Vogts shouted, a snarl twisting his lips. "I knew we should have killed the viper when we had the chance."

  "London soon will be within our sight. The capital will be in our grasp ere week's end and Henry knows it," Bridgeman declared. "His support and influence, however, grow stronger the closer we get to the capital. Bare handfuls of men are throwing in their lots with ours now, while hundreds still stream down from the north.

  "The few southerners that have enlisted speak of another army, not a dozen miles from here, led by Sir Cecil Hampstead and endowed with over fifteen thousand men. Clifford is rushing to join them with another six thousand, new blood mixed with the remnants of the force we shattered at Lincoln. If the two merge, I fear we are done for."

  "Why then, it's obvious," Vogts said. "We must attack before Clifford ever gets here. We're almost even in numbers thanks to the swell of support still adding to our ranks, but as he said, we can't count on any more supporters, though luck may favor us. So I say we attack now.

  "But it won't be easy. I've heard of Hampstead. His knightly exploits are legend throughout the whole of Europe. He fought beside Henry at the Field of Cloth of Gold in France. This will be a real battle compared to what we managed last time."

  Topaz had gathered her reins and was spurring her mount on. "Enough of talk. We must press on! Lord Clifford will not wait and we are wasting time."

  "We'll need to march through the night with all God's speed," Bridgeman urged, his voice taking on a preaching tone. "We will need to send scouts on ahead to find another good location. Earthworks must be dug before first light!"

  "You're right, Bridgeman," Vogts admitted. "Our only chance is a dawn attack. We must march, prepare, and rise with the sun to breathe just as fiery a breath as they try to attack us."

  Topaz nodded and smiled. "Aye, and I think I have just the right place in mind."

  The following day dawned with the twittering of the sparrows and thrushes mingled with the singing of the larks. Topaz could also discern the unmistakable cawing of crows all in blissful concordance throughout the copse of trees that sheltered their encampment. The sun was peeking over the horizon, giving way to another tranquil morning, undisturbed by human voices, stomping feet and clattering hooves.

  She enjoyed these halcyon moments of quietude before the others arose, waking to yet another leg of her journey towards the crown. Removing her chemise and underclothes, she sank to her knees in the stream behind the campground and let the invigorating ripples engulf her body as her arms floated weightlessly in the flow. She splashed water on her face and rubbed her eyes, gazing out over the small fertile hillocks in the distance. Trees graced the landscape, their graceful boughs sweeping the ground like satin veils.

  She dried herself off and dressed quickly, as the stirring of the men taking their turn to get up and dig alerted her.

  Returning to the excavations, she surveyed the troops around her, a melting pot of her people. Only two distinct groups stood out, Vogts' band of mercenaries with their outlandish foreign dress, and the two thousand crimson-crested troops still dressed in the livery of Cli
fford, their former liege. Topaz made a note to herself to get rid of those brash uniforms as soon as possible. They made far too easy a target amid the green of the countryside.

  Having breakfasted and got into position on the crest of the hill above the enemy camp before Hampstead's army even stumbled out of their tents, Topaz's men unleashed a deafening fusillade of cannon balls. Unlike Clifford's raw recruits, Hampstead's men, though taken by surprise, reacted quickly.

  She laughed as she espied them pulling on their breeches and scrambling for their weapons, then sobered as they rapidly formed a well-organized defensive line. They were immediately decimated by the pounding of the guns but Hampstead, a veteran campaigner, consolidated and got them back into order.