Chapter 128: Woofferton
August, 1460
Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick looked up from the map as he heard footsteps. “Well?” He asked.
“Six hundred men, all told, Sir.” His cousin Sir Henry Neville said.
“Buckingham?” Richard asked.
“At the forefront, Sir.” Henry answered.
Richard nodded, he folded the map and handed it over to his squire. For months he’d been chasing Buckingham’s army around the Midlands. They’d slipped away at Redditch and at Worcester but now near some poor village hovel called Woofferton they’d found him. And Richard wanted to end the threat here and now.
“Ready the men.” Richard said looking at his other cousin also named Richard.
“Sir.” He watched his cousin hurry off and Richard rolled his shoulders and prepared for what was to come. It wouldn’t be an easy time, it would be difficult, but he felt that they had the advantage. In men as well as in terms of the ground.
It was flat here, which would make it easier for them to use the cavalry. Of course, the standard style of fighting now meant you dismounted, but if the advantage was there you would be foolish not to take it.
“Sir.” A voice said. Richard turned and saw that his squire had brought his horse. Richard nodded his thanks to the lad and got onto the horse. The animal snorted and then moved as Richard urged it on, he would be leading the charge after all.
As they got to the clearing, where Richard had chosen the site of battle. He turned and looked at one of his men. “Tell Sir Henry it is time.”
The man nodded and hurried off.
His cousin was to lead Buckingham on a merry chase and then bring him to this field. Where Richard and his men would be waiting. It would not be clean, and it would not be pretty. But it would work. Of that he was sure.
He’d spent a lot of time since Coventry thinking it through and had decided this had to be the way to go.
They had to stop Buckingham from getting to Wales. If he got to Wales, then that was that. The man would link up with Henry Beaufort and then they were all fucked.
He heard a bugle sound and nodded to himself. That was the sign that his cousin had ridden off with his men to lure Buckingham to the site of battle. “Go with God.” Richard murmured to himself.
His father and brother had gone north to deal with Northumberland and Westmoreland. Whether they would succeed there, Richard didn’t know. He hoped so. He wanted his father to kill Northumberland and wipe out that damned family once and for all.
Things were getting tense throughout the Kingdom. Richard knew that. Anyone with smarts knew that. The longer Henry of Lancaster sat in Truro the more damaging it was for King Richard’s prospects. There needed to be one big battle and the matter needed to be resolved that way.
But for some reason the King refused to entertain such prospects. Richard’s father felt it was because the King didn’t want to bring about the mass death that would result from such a thing. Which was commendable. However, Richard was sure it was because the King knew he would need to kill Henry of Lancaster and that was not something he really wanted to do.
Richard supposed he could understand. After all the King and Lancaster were cousins, both male line descendants of King Edward III, and they had been close once. If Richard remembered correctly. That was not something that easily went, Richard was sure. And yet, something needed to be done.
This constant fighting, back and forth would solve nothing. They needed decisive action.
Richard blinked as he heard what sounded like hooves, or was it men? “Look ahead!” He barked. He saw someone produce one of those new eye scopes and saw them fix it to their eyes. A moment passed and then another, the sound was getting louder.
“Buckingham, Sir!” The man shouted.
“Prepare!” Richard roared. The command was passed down the line. Richard grabbed his sword. He took a breath. One…the men came into view, it was Buckingham’s men, they were running hard. Two…Buckingham was at the front; Richard would recognise that oaf anywhere. Three…he took another breath. “Charge!” He roared, he urged his horse on.
Blood rushed to his head, his heart quickened. He drew his sword and then the action began. Cutting, slashing, toing and throwing. Moving forward and backward. Bringing the weapon of death on those who were before him. He was looking for Buckingham but he couldn’t find him.
It didn’t matter, there were others who could be removed.
He took a good swipe at many of Buckingham’s retainers, the stench of blood slowly creeped into his nose and into his mind. He fought the urge to throw up and kept going. This was it. The decisive moment.
His horse buckled under the weight of something, Richard had time to disentangle himself, but the horse died before his eyes. He stumbled into the fray, his sword still in his hands, until it wasn’t. He started punching, using his gauntleted fists to exercise the rage and energy.
One man came and went, as did another. It was a constant whirlwind of action and inaction. His heart raced, his breathing was coming out in fits and starts. Where was Buckingham? He didn’t know.
He heard a bugle sounding and wondered who it was that was coming.
He heard a shout and then saw something. What was it? The King’s banner? Or something else? A red rose? He didn’t know, but the battle continued.