Chapter 105: Whirlwind In A Cup
December, 1458
Henry rubbed at his eyes. The hour was late. He’d just been about to fall asleep when a servant had entered his room to tell him that the Duke of Buckingham had something urgent to tell him. Something that couldn’t wait until morning. Henry had gotten changed and walked into the council chamber and had found Buckingham, Northumberland, Shrewsbury, Lisle, Somerset and the Archbishop of York all gathered in the room. Why Northumberland and Somerset were in the room he didn’t know, given that he’d not restored them to their positions, and where Norfolk and Exeter were he didn’t know either.
“Well?” He asked, barely able to stop the frustration creeping into his voice. “What is it that was so important it couldn’t wait until the morning?”
“There has been a battle in the Midlands, Sire.” Buckingham said without preamble.
“A battle?” Henry asked looking at the man and wondering just what he was talking about. “Between who?”
“The Duke of York and Lord Egremont, Sire.” Buckingham said.
“What were they dong in the Midlands?” Henry asked, the Midlands was Warwick and Somerset territory, but Somerset was here. So, why York was there, he didn’t understand.
“It appears that Lord Egremont had mustered a force of northerners to try and intercept York as he marched south with a small army.” Buckingham said.
Henry looked at Buckingham and then at Northumberland and said. “Explain.”
Northumberland took a breath and then did just that. “We received reports that York was bringing an army comprising men from his estates as well as men from Warwick and Salisbury’s estates. My brother believed they were coming here with the intention of preventing any sort of reconciliation between York and the Duke of Somerset from taking place. Indeed, we believed they were going to try and remove Your Grace from the throne.”
Henry digested this information. Dee had told him that there was some trouble brewing with York, that the man had become discontented. But he had not thought it would come to this. He took a breath and asked. “Why did you not tell me before?”
“We wanted to take care of the problem before it reached you, Your Grace.” Northumberland said.
“York is a Prince of the Blood.” Henry said, as much as he might wish it were different that was the truth. York was a male line descendant of Edward III who was legitimate, he was a Prince of the Blood and as such entitled to certain protections.
“I know, Sire.” Northumberland replied, he didn’t sound contrite at all or as if he particularly cared about what the implications of his actions were.
“Even more reason for why you should have come to me before doing anything.” Henry said.
“Time was of the essence, Sire.” Northumberland protested.
“York is a Prince of the Blood, by rights, if he comes to London he could demand you executed and I would have to comply.” Henry said.
Northumberland’s jaw jutted out then. “I will not apologise for acting as I did, Sire.”
Henry sighed. Northumberland was only doing what he thought was right, Henry supposed. But still, this put them in a very awkward situation. “How do you know he intended to subvert the reconciliation process?”
“Multiple sources within his army confirmed as much.” Northumberland replied.
“And you trust these sources?” Henry asked.
“Yes, they’ve never been wrong before, Sire.” Northumberland said.
Henry nodded, then asked. “What was the result of this battle?” A part of him hoped that York and Salisbury were lying dead in a ditch somewhere, that way he would only need to deal with Warwick, and Henry had a feeling he could bring Warwick in line.
“It was inconclusive, Sire.” Buckingham said.
“Inconclusive?” Henry repeated.
“Yes, Sire. It seems that whilst Egremont’s men had the initial advantage, York managed to turn the tide, though neither side declared a winner.” Buckingham answered.
“So, where is York now?” Henry asked.
Henry saw Buckingham exchange a look with Somerset, and felt his patience start to fray, it was late at night after all. After a moment, Buckingham answered. “We don’t know, Sire.”
“You don’t know?” Henry replied.
“No, Sire.” Buckingham said.
“How can you not know where the fuck York is? He’s got a fucking army with him!” Henry yelled.
He didn’t usually swear but the stress of all of this was finally starting to hit him. York was trying to overthrow him, of that he had no doubt. Everything was twisting and snarling its way through, and here he was, trying to fight against a foe he didn’t see.
Before Buckingham could reply, Somerset spoke. “There are two choices before you, Sire.”
Henry looked at the man and wondered if he was loving this. Somerset had just been proven right. “And what are those?”
“You can either stay here, and wait for York to come, or you can leave London and take up ground in Cornwall, where it will be far easier to draw men.” Somerset said.
“You want me to leave London?” Henry asked.
“Only temporarily. It would be easier for myself and for the Earls of Devon and Oxford to get their men to Your Grace’s side than if we remained in Devon.” Somerset said.
“If Your Grace leaves London, York will declare himself King.” Shrewsbury pointed out.
“And if His Grace stays in London there’s every chance York has him killed.” Northumberland countered. “York knows his history.”
Henry closed his eyes. If he fled, he might never come back to London. But if he stayed? Henry knew that he would not live. And as much as he might want to become a martyr, he didn’t want to die just yet. He wanted to live, to raise his son and to try and make things right with Margaret. He exhaled. He opened his eyes and said. “I want you all ready to leave for Cornwall come the morning.” With that he turned and walked out of the room.