Chapter 147: Waaaaales
February, 1462
Henry Beaufort, Earl of Dorset….no…. Duke of Somerset took a breath and then took a swig of wine. It was bloody cold in the castle. It was always bloody cold; years of this place never being lived in had meant that the windows and the heating were substandard. The King didn’t seem to mind it, but everyone else did. It was why Henry had started a small levy to improve the castle, and had asked that building work start immediately.
Some had grumbled about it, but when the changes came they wouldn’t mind the expense. Of that he was sure of. What he wasn’t sure of was whether or not they would ever venture out from here. He took a breath.
“News?” He asked.
“The men are happy and prepared.” Owen Tudor, the commander of their Welsh contingent said. “They are prepared to destroy any enemy of the King.”
Henry nodded. That was good, the Welsh had come in useful during the fight against York. “How many can we expect for the next campaign season?”
“Three thousand, archers and all.” Owen said.
Henry whistled. Three thousand, that was a lot. “Of good quality?”
Tudor bristled. “Of course.”
Henry nodded and left it there. He turned to Devon then and asked. “And what of our English men?” The English were the ones he was actually worried about. The longer they were in Wales, the harder it would be for them to sustain morale and cohesion. People would want to go back to their homes, and their families.
“They are ready to fight, but they need cause.” Devon said. The man was unlike his father and brother, Henry actually liked him.
“Reason to fight?” Owen Tudor said. “Fighting against a usurper is not reason enough?”
“Most of the men are in a foreign land, away from everything they’ve ever known and they’ve not even seen the King. Of course, they need a real reason.” Devon retorted.
Henry held up a hand to stop Tudor from protesting further. He could understand what Devon was saying. Men were simple creatures, they would fight for their family, for their home and for their King. But they were far away from the first two, and the last one hadn’t been out of his rooms in weeks. It seemed that executing Warwick had finally come to haunt the King. He’d retreated within himself, barely speaking, barely moving, barely eating. It was incredibly frustrating if Henry were being honest with himself, but he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t force the King to be something he wasn’t.
He took a breath. “What do you recommend?” He eventually asked.
“Someone needs to take command.” Devon said. “Someone needs to lead. The men need someone to fight for.”
“Who do you suggest if not the King?” Tudor barked.
Devon looked at Henry and he had a horrible idea of who Devon would suggest. “You, Your Grace.” Devon said.
“Me?” Henry asked. “Why?”
“You are young, you are smart and you are capable. Furthermore, you are the King’s closest adult male relative. You are the perfect person to lead us. The natural person.” Devon said.
Henry was about to say something in protest. He didn’t want the burden of this, but before he could Tudor spoke. “Devon is right.” Henry looked at Tudor and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been coordinating the war effort for a long time now, you brought Wales together. You are the natural choice.”
Henry took a breath and thought about what Tudor and Devon had both said. It was true that he had been organising things in Wales for a long time, he’d been the one to suggest the ambush and diversion of York’s forces. And he’d been the one to bring about changes to the formation of troops. But this seemed like a lot. He’d be taking over the role that his father had traditionally held, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted the baggage.
He took another breath. There wasn’t really anyone else who could do it though, he supposed. Devon wasn’t respected enough; de Vere wasn’t trusted and Tudor was Welsh.
“Fine.” He said.
Tudor and Devon both seemed relieved.
“Excellent.” Devon replied.
Henry took a third breath and then said. “We must take Ludlow then. Before York’s get tries to claim it for his own. It is February now, before long there will be another campaign season.”
Take Ludlow and they would firmly shut the door on York and Wales. Fail and they were all fucked.
“What would you recommend?” Tudor asked.
“A rapid attack. Search and destroy.” Henry said. “Sneak in and claim it before they know what’s happening.”
“A combined force?” Devon asked.
“Yes, infantry only. We take it and we win.” Henry said. He hoped he was right, truly.