A Thorn In The Rose: A War Of The Roses TL

Chapter 119: Coventry 2.0

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    Chapter 119: Coventry 2.0

    December, 1459

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    “They have exactly 1300 men in the town.” Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick said to his father.

    “And you know this how?” His father, the Earl of Salisbury asked.

    “My men inside the town have sent word.” Richard responded.

    “And do you believe them?” His father asked.

    Richard wanted to be offended, but he understood why his father had asked him the question. Coventry had fallen without much of a fight, likely because Buckingham had a man in the garrison. How he’d not seen that he didn’t know, but he was fighting back. It was his town after all. “I do.” He answered.

    “And how much food and other resources do they have?” His father asked.

    “Enough to see out the winter.” Richard said. “They have taken from the winter stores and from the surrounding areas.” That had angered him. Surely the people would’ve opposed that? But they hadn’t, they’d just meekly allowed it.

    “So, we have to act now.” His father surmised.

    “Yes, that would be my conclusion.” Richard agreed.

    “So, what are the best ways into the city without engaging in a siege?” His father asked.

    Richard took a moment to consider the question. There were a variety of options open before them, but most of them involved having to engage in a siege. “There is one option we could pursue.”

    “Go on.” His father commanded.

    “We send someone to the gates, wanting to negotiate. And whilst they’re doing that, we sneak in through a back entrance.” Richard said.

    His father raised an eyebrow. “Is that wise? We have some two and a half thousand men with us. That’s not something that we can get away with that easily.”

    “Well, some of the men would need to be with the ones negotiating, and the rest can move in the back.” Richard responded.

    “How many?” His father asked.

    “I’d say half with the one going to negotiate. Half go from the back.” Richard said.

    “One of us will need to be the one leading the negotiations.” His father said. “Otherwise it won’t be believable.”

    “I agree.” Richard said. He was half tempted to say that he should lead the negotiations but then thought that would completely undercut everything that he’d been working on for the past few weeks.

    His father seemed to have the same thought process, for the man said. “I will lead them. I have come straight from London. It will make more sense.”

    “And what will you say if Buckingham and Shrewsbury then ask about me?” Richard asked.

    “That you have been overridden.” His father said. His father answered that question in a particular tone of voice that it made Richard think of when he was little and his father would simply dismiss his concerns like that, without a care in the world.

    It made him bristle slightly, but he ignored it. “Very well. When would you want to get to work on this?”

    “As soon as possible.” His father said. “Winter has already come, but the snows aren’t due for another two weeks. The King wants this dealt with before January.”

    Richard nodded, he could see the sense to that. “Then we had best get to work.”

    His father nodded. “Indeed we should.”

    Richard looked at his father and felt a thrill of excitement run through him. The time was coming. And soon the whole world would know.
     
    • Chapter 120: To Fight Or Not To Fight

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    Chapter 120: To Fight Or Not To Fight



    February, 1460

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    “Sire, you must realise that this news from Coventry shows that we must move forward and fight.” Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset said.

    The King didn’t look at him, but his tone indicated that he felt defeated. “With what army? Devon is fighting the Bonvilles, Oxford is trying to ensure the security of his lands. We have no army.”

    “We have the men who came with Your Majesty from London and the men of Cornwall. If we march, the rest will join us.” Edmund said. Of that he was convinced. Nobody could resist the pull of the King’s army when it passed them.

    The King frowned. “I will not march through without more men.”

    “Then send word to Devon, tell him to leave the Bonvilles be. Tell him that they shall be dealt with later.” Edmund said.

    “Will he come if I do?” The King asked.

    “Yes.” Edmund answered, though he had no actual idea if that was true.

    “And what of the Bonvilles?” The King asked then. “They will need to be dealt with at some point.”

    Edmund sighed. The Bonvilles had been nothing but a pain, but he supposed there was one way to handle them. “We could always employ the Boscawens, Sire.”

    “The Boscawens?” The King replied. “You want me to use those people!”

    “Yes, Sire. It would remove the Bonvilles without anything every coming back to Your Majesty.” Edmund said.

    “It would also be the height of dishonour.” The King said.

    Edmund took a breath. “Sometimes it is better to do something dishonourable once to ensure that honour can be maintained in the long term.”

    The King snorted. “What does that even mean?”

    Edmund took another breath. “It was something that Your Majesty’s father often said.” It was half true, Edmund remembered his own father had said this more than once, and his brother had done so as well. They’d both apparently gotten it from the King’s father, though whether that was true, Edmund didn’t know.

    The response from the King was exactly what Edmund wanted though. The man looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Truly?”

    Edmund knew what he had to do. “Truly, Sire. One small thing to ensure the stability of the rest of the Kingdom. York is not the right one.”

    The King sighed. “I suppose you are right. Tell Boscawen to do what needs be done.”

    Edmund nodded. “Sire.” He made a note of it and then turned to the next important issue. “This means that now Your Majesty must decide on what to do about London.”

    The King took a breath. “What do your spies say?"

    Edmund swallowed. His spies were being offed one by one, that was the truth, but he couldn’t tell the King that. So, instead he said. “The mood in London is chaotic.” That was partially the truth. What spies he had left were reporting an increase in the chaos in London.

    “How so?” The King asked.

    “There are fears from the merchants that York will allow the French to take Calais, and that he is looking to strike an alliance with France by marrying one of his daughters to King Charles’ second son.” Edmund said. “They fear that if he does this then Burgundy will cut any and all ties with them and the economy will shrink.”

    “So, what are they doing about it?” The King asked.

    “They have petitioned York, and if that fails they intend to riot.” Edmund lied. He didn’t know if they actually did plan on rioting, he hoped they did though. It would make his life so much easier.

    “And do you think they will?” The King asked.

    “Sire?” Edmund replied.

    “Do you think they will riot?” The King asked.

    “I think it is likely. York has not shown himself to be that receptive to their demands.” Edmund lied.

    The King nodded. “Very well.”

    A moment of silence passed, and Edmund briefly wondered if they were done, but then the King spoke again. “Should we advance on London within the next few months, I want you to remain here.”

    “Sire?” Edmund asked, surprised by this. He had thought the King would want him by his side.

    “I do not want my son’s regent to be risked.” The King said.

    “Regent?!” Edmund exclaimed, he’d not been expecting this.

    “Yes. You have served me loyally for my entire reign. I want you to be my son’s regent should something happen to me in battle. Therefore, you are to remain here in Truro, when the army marches to London. Should we lose, then you are to move to Calais. The Prince of Wales and the Queen are not to be endangered, do you understand?” The King said.

    “I do, Sire.” Edmund answered. He disagreed with the King’s demand but he would not openly say that. If he was going to be regent, he needed to keep the King sweet.

    “Good.” The King said. “We would want you to give my son a well-rounded education, do not squander the opportunities.”

    “Sire.” Edmund replied.

    The King seemed satisfied with this for he smiled at Edmund. “Good, now unless there is anything else?”

    Edmund shook his head, there was nothing more he could think of.

    The King rose, prompting Edmund to do the same. “Then we shall meet again at the Council Meeting.”

    “Sire.” Edmund replied bowing once. He watched the King depart, he would be regent if something happened to the King. It was a start.
     
    • Chapter 121: Ireland's Song

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    Chapter 121: Ireland’s Song

    March, 1460

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    “The Butlers now reside on the West Coast.” Thomas FitzGerald, Earl of Kildare said. “Their chances of regaining their old lands are reducing by the day.” That was what his illegitimate brother, William had told him in a letter earlier this month. William was convinced that Ormond would soon be under their control by the end of the month.

    “And who are they hiding with?” John Bole, Archbishop of Armagh asked.

    “The Burkes and the O’Briens.” Thomas answered. “However, I have a plan to drive both those clans out of their lands as well.”

    “How?” The Archbishop asked.

    Thomas took a breath. “I am going to write to the King and ask him to send more people from England. These people will need places to stay, and we shall mount a campaign to settle them in Burke and O’Brien land.” It was a risky strategy, Thomas could admit to that, especially with England in the grips of war. But they needed a way to remove two clans who’d shown time and again that they didn’t care about the Crown, only their own power.

    “And will His Grace send such people?” The Archbishop asked.

    “I think so, Sir.” Thomas replied. “His Grace the King recognises the challenges that we face, and given his fondness for Ireland, I do not think he would want to see it harmed further by the Butlers.”

    “Then we shall need to make the legal argument strong.” The Archbishop said.

    Thomas looked at Sir Nicholas Barnewall, his ally and the Chief Justice of Ireland who answered accordingly. “We have got that covered, Sir. Arguments are being prepared as we speak to explain and clear up the legality of what His Grace will do.”

    “And where will you send O’Brien and Burke?” The Archbishop asked.

    “Into the sea, Sir.” Thomas said. “Or we will sell them to the sailors who insist that there is land to our west.”

    The Archbishop laughed. “Very well.”

    There was a brief pause as they all considered what this meant. Should they succeed, they would remove a significant block of opposition to the Crown’s control of Ireland, and also increase their own territorial power as well. It was something that they should all be striving toward, but Thomas knew that the others were reluctant to open their minds to it, because he was reluctant to do so as well.

    The silence was cleared by Barnewall who asked. “Has His Grace said anything more about who will become Lord Lieutenant?”

    “He has.” Thomas said. The King had sent a letter a few days ago detailing his reasons for his choice.

    “And who has His Grace chosen?” Barnewall asked.

    “His Highness the Duke of York.” Thomas said.

    There was a moment of silence. Thomas understood why the King had gone with his second son, the boy had been deputy Lord Lieutenant since he had been a babe, and of course, the King’s family had historic ties to Ireland. But given all the work that Thomas had done for the King, he had hoped that he might get the title.

    The Archbishop broke the silence. “Is it safe for His Highness to come?”

    “I believe so.” Thomas answered. “We broke the Butlers strength a year and a half ago, and they’ve not bothered raiding since then. The Burkes and the O’Briens are not idiots they won’t try and harm the Duke when he gets here.”

    “Are you sure?” The Archbishop asked. “The Burke is notoriously hot-headed.”

    “The Burke is not a fool. He knows he can’t do anything without Butler.” Thomas said. “And with Butler lacking an army, they won’t dare do anything.” He hoped.

    “Very well.” The Archbishop said. “When will His Highness arrive?”

    “By the summer.” Thomas answered.

    “Was there a clearer date?” The Archbishop asked.

    Thomas shook his head. “His Grace did not specify.”

    The Archbishop snorted. “Very well.”

    Thomas nodded. “Indeed.”

    There was a brief pause, and then Barnewall spoke. “We shall need to get the appropriate people elected to the new Parliament, assuming His Highness deems it right to call one.”

    “I know.” Thomas replied. “I have already gotten my cousins to start searching for appropriate candidates in our lands as well as in Butler lands. We shall speak with our cousin Desmond and arrange for him to choose the right candidates in his lands and in the Mac Carthy lands.”

    “Which will give us a majority won’t it?” Barnewall asked.

    “It will. But we need a larger majority than before.” Thomas said, he was convinced the northern nobles would try and cause chaos if they got their way.

    The Archbishop spoke then. “I will speak with my flock; they shall vote accordingly.”

    Thomas nodded his thanks and then said. “Well, that is everything. We all know what we must do, let us do it.”

    “God Save The King!” The Archbishop said.

    “God Save The King!” Thomas and Barnewall replied.
     
    • Chapter 122: A Father's Worry

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    Chapter 122: A Father’s Worry

    March, 1460

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    “Ireland?” Edmund asked looking at his father.

    “Ireland.” His father, the King answered.

    “When?” Edmund asked, fully aware that Margaret was due to give birth at any moment now.

    “After your wife has had your child. In July.” The King said.

    “Are you sure that is wise?” Edmund had asked. He had heard all sorts of rumours about what was happening in Ireland, and not all of them were good.

    “Yes.” The King said. “I have spoken with Kildare; he has assured me that Ireland is secure. The Butlers are being driven into the sea as we speak. The Church is fully in support of us.”

    Edmund nodded, he supposed that made sense, the Archbishop of Armagh had gotten help from the King in getting his Archbishopric after all. “And what do you want me to do whilst I am there?”

    The King sighed. “Secure the Crown’s hold over Ireland. Bring the native chieftains in line and ensure that our writ extends beyond Dublin.”

    “No big thing then.” Edmund quipped, smiling.

    The King laughed. “I have full confidence that you will be able to achieve it.”

    Edmund wanted to ask his father how he could be so sure, but he had learned over time not to ask such questions. Instead, he simply said. “I shall do everything I can.”

    The King nodded. “Good, that is all we ask.”

    A moment passed where they were both looking at one another. Edmund didn’t really know what to say. He had never really known what to say to his father. He had been in awe of the man since he could remember. But there was also a slight tinge of bitterness for him, in that his father never included him in his councils. Preferring only to include Edward. That hurt.

    The King broke the silence then. “We would ask your opinion on something.”

    “Sire?” Edmund replied, wondering what it could be.

    “The Earl of Salisbury has recommended a change in the styling for the Royal Family.” The King said. “From Grace to Majesty and from Highness to Royal Highness. We would ask what your views are on this.”

    Edmund considered this, he had heard rumours that the Holy Roman Emperor was also considering such a change, and if he were being honest it would make sense. Given that the Archbishops were also referred to as Grace, it could get confusing sometimes. But at the same time, he wondered if it would be seen as presumptuous. “I think there are merits to it, Sire.” He said.

    “But?” The King asked.

    “But I worry that it might be seen as presumptuous. After all, it was only eighty years ago that the styling of Grace was adopted for the King, Sire. Might it be seen as overindulgent?” Edmund wondered.

    “Perhaps. But then it would serve as a crucial differentiator.” The King said.

    “Sire?” Edmund replied, unsure of just what his father was getting at and wondering if it was the same thing he had been wondering.

    “We cannot be considered in the same rank as the Archbishops or as the non-Royal Dukes. The time has come for clear differentiators. Would you not agree?” The King asked.

    Edmund would agree, but given how rooted his father was to tradition, he was somewhat surprised that he was willing to entertain this. Still, the King was willing to entertain it, who was he to question it? “I would, Sire.” He eventually said.

    “Good.” The King replied. “We shall have the letters patent drawn up before the month ends.”

    “Sire.” Edmund replied.

    There was a knock on the door then. “Come.” The King commanded.

    A guard entered the room, his face was flushed, he bowed and then said. “I bring news from the birthing chamber.”

    “Speak.” The King commanded. Edmund straightened then, saying a silent prayer in the hope that all was well.

    “Her Highness the Duchess of York has delivered a son, Sire.” The guard said.

    The King nodded, looked at Edmund and said. “Congratulations.”

    “Sire.” Edmund replied, he was ecstatic, he took out a couple of coins from the coin bag attached to his belt and went to hand them to the guard. Before he gave them to the man though he asked. “And the Duchess of York, she is well?”

    “Yes, Your Highness.” The guard said.

    Edmund nodded and handed the coins to the guard, who bowed and then departed.

    Edmund looked at the King who asked him. “What will you name the boy?”

    “Richard, after you, Sire.” Edmund said. He and Margaret had agreed on that.
     
    • Chapter 123: Queenly Concern

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    Chapter 123: Queenly Concern

    April, 1460

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    “Why did you name Somerset as regent?” Margaret demanded. She could tolerate a lot, but such a clear slight on her own honour and capabilities was not something she could handle.

    “Because he is the closest male relative available.” Henry replied. “And custom dictates that that is who the regency goes to.”

    “And the fact that he is not that competent?” Margaret asked. “The fact that Oxford, Devon and Buckingham don’t like him?”

    “They will have to work with him.” Henry said.

    “Do you think they will?” Margaret asked. She couldn’t imagine them doing so. Indeed, she knew for a fact that Oxford wanted Somerset to fall.

    “Yes.” Henry said.

    “Why?” Margaret asked.

    “Because the way the Regency Act has been worded ensures that Somerset is only the figurehead regent.” Henry replied.

    “What do you mean?” Margaret asked, wondering if that was even possible.

    “I had Fortescue word the Act in such a manner that although it gives the veneer of investing Somerset with most of the power. All of it is actually in your hands.” Henry said.

    Margaret’s eyes widened. “And Somerset agreed to this?”

    Henry laughed. “The man didn’t even bother reading through the Act, he just fixed his seal to it and went about his day.”

    “And the others?” Margaret asked. As far as she knew, her husband had asked those members of his council that were present in Truro to fix their seals to the Act as well.

    “They were more than happy to agree to this.” Henry said.

    “So, what does this mean?” Margaret found herself asking.

    "It means that should something happen to me, you will be the one guiding the regency, Somerset will be the figurehead, but it is you who will be making the main decisions.” Henry said.

    Margaret took a breath. “But nothing will happen to you.” She hoped not anyway, she didn’t want to lose her husband.

    “I do not know.” Henry said. “We are going to be marching out soon enough.”

    “To London?” Margaret asked.

    Henry shook his head. “No. We’re going to march northwards and try and join up with the men that Viscount Lisle has raised from his estates. Then we’re going to attempt to handle Warwick and Salisbury.”

    “Are you sure that is wise?” Margaret asked, she didn’t know much about strategy but to her, leaving London in one’s rear didn’t sound that smart.

    “Yes.” Henry replied. “We cannot let Warwick and Salisbury come and aid York whilst we try and take London. They must be destroyed.”

    “Very well.” Margaret replied, conceding the point.

    There was a brief silence as Margaret digested this information. The old worries came floating back. Would Henry be fine with leading men into battle? Would he suffer a breakdown as he had done after Birmingham? Would he come back to her whole? That last one was what prompted her to say. “Margaret Beaufort has had a son.” She’d heard the news from one of her ladies whose sister served at court.

    “Oh?” Henry replied sounding as though he didn’t understand the relevance of this.

    “York’s dynasty will be seen as secure by some.” Margaret said. Hoping her husband would get the hint.

    He looked at her. “You can’t be serious.”

    “Henry, we only have one son. Edward was nearly taken from us. We must try again to secure the succession.” Margaret said.

    Her husband didn’t answer her. Instead he turned away from her and looked at his fingers.

    “Did I do something wrong that you have no desire to sleep with me?” Margaret asked, hating how pitiful she sounded.

    Henry looked at her and his eyes were wracked with guilt. “You could never do anything to remove the love I feel for you.”

    “Then what is it?!” Margaret demanded.

    “I am scared.” Henry whispered. “Scared that I won’t be able to perform. Scared that I won’t be a good father. No child should ever have to experience that.”

    “Henry.” Margaret said, her heart breaking for her husband. She didn’t know what to say.

    Henry looked at her with tears in his eyes. “I will not subject you or anyone else to failure that I am.”

    “But, Henry….” Margaret said, a pleading note entering her voice.

    “But nothing. This is my decision, please respect it.” Henry replied.

    Margaret sighed. Clearly her husband wasn’t going to see sense. “Fine.” She said eventually.
     
    • Chapter 124: Wales

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    Chapter 124: Wales

    May, 1460

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    “We need a plan.” Owen Tudor said in that gruff voice of his.

    Henry Beaufort, Earl of Dorset and the King’s man in Wales sighed. “I know.”

    “Do you have one?” Tudor demanded. The man’s eyes had become glassy over the past few months, clearly his drinking had gotten out of control.

    “I am open to suggestions.” Henry said calmly.

    Tudor snorted. “That’s a no.”

    “Go easy, Owen.” Thomas ap Gruffydd said. “We’re all trying our best here.”

    “Our best isn’t good enough!” Tudor snapped. “The King is in exile in bloody Cornwall, and York sits in London, daring to wear the crown. We need action!”

    “Well, as I said before, I am open to suggestions.” Henry said again. He understood Tudor’s frustrations, truly he did, but he didn’t like the man’s tone.

    Tudor didn’t say anything immediately, instead he downed his cup of ale, wiped his mouth and then finally he spoke. “There is only one true solution to this whole issue.”

    “And what is that?” Henry asked, wondering whether the man would come up with something sensible, or something faintly ridiculous.

    “We must find the Welshmen who are supporting York and destroy them.” Tudor growled.

    Henry opened his mouth to reply then shut it again. That wasn’t actually that bad a solution, but there was a problem with it. “How will we identify them? It’s hardly as if they’re running around screaming their allegiance.”

    “Well, had you initiated the system I had told you about, this wouldn’t be a problem.” Tudor snapped.

    Henry sighed. Not this again. “And I’ve told you before, getting them to wear little bands of cloth would not have done anything. Nobody would ever have taken it up.” It was true, they didn’t have enough of the material needed to make the stuff, and nobody would be foolish enough to willingly go through with it.

    Tudor grunted. “Then what do you recommend, Lord Dorset?”

    “We must find another way.” Henry said. “And that way is to invite people to Caernarvon.”

    “For what?” Tudor demanded.

    “A feast of course.” Henry said. He knew that though they might try to deny it, the Welsh loved a feast. They loved showing off.

    “And what do you intend to do in this feast?” Tudor asked. “How will you find out who supports who?”

    Henry smiled. “With music of course.”

    “Music?!” Tudor exclaimed.

    “Yes.” Henry answered. “We’re going to get bards in to play songs that are associated with both parties, and see how our guests react.”

    “And?” Tudor asked.

    “And those who respond with averted eyes and awkward glances to York’s songs will be the ones we shall handle.” Henry said.

    “And how are you going to deal with them?” Tudor asked.

    “It’s better if you do not know that.” Henry said.

    “Why?” Tudor demanded.

    Henry said nothing, instead he looked at Thomas and said. “You still have that company of musicians in your pay?”

    “I do, my lord.” Thomas said. “And the good thing is having not declare allegiance to any one party, nobody will suspect it.”

    “Excellent.” Henry said, perhaps there was something good from Thomas being a slippery little snake after all.

    “When will this little dinner happen?” Tudor asked then.

    Henry smiled. “In a few weeks’ time. We must have time to prepare.”

    “And you think it will work?” Tudor asked.

    “Yes. I do.” Henry said.

    He could tell that Tudor still had questions, but thankfully the man didn’t ask anymore, instead he simply nodded. “Very well.”

    Henry smiled. “Excellent, then let us get to work.” Hopefully this would all work.
     
    • Chapter 125: Oxford

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    Chapter 125: Oxford

    June, 1460    ​



    The cell door opened and a figure walked in. The hour was late, and so John didn’t get a very good look at the man who stood before him. He was tired. Terribly tired. He’d been here for months now. Nobody had come and visited him. He didn’t even know if his family were well or not.

    “Why do you resist?” The voice asked, it sounded vaguely familiar.

    “What?” John asked.

    “Why do you resist?” The voice asked again.

    “Resist what?” John replied.

    “The pull of the White Rose.” The voice said.

    “Pah.” John snorted. “I won’t betray my King.”

    “Even though your King has made no attempt to try and bring you out of here?” The voice asked.

    “He has his reasons.” John said.

    “And what reasons would those be?” The voice asked.

    John moved slightly. “I am not going to discuss my King’s inner motivations with you, traitor.”

    The voice laughed then. John looked at it, the voice belonged to a man, that much was clear, but otherwise he couldn’t quite tell what was going on there. “I am no traitor.”

    “Yes, you are.” John said. “You are working for York. A man who has usurped the throne.”

    “Usurped the throne or taken what is rightfully his?” The voice asked.

    “Enough of these riddles!” John snapped, his patience was thinning. “Tell me what you want, or get out!”

    The voice changed, becoming deeper. “To make you an offer.”

    “An offer?” John asked. What sort of offer would this scumbag offer him?

    “Yes.” The voice said. “Recant your loyalty to Henry of Lancaster and the King shall free you, and allow you the right to your lands. You shall have a place of honour at his side and the right to deal with your enemies as you see fit.”

    That sounded like a brilliant offer, which was why John asked. “What’s the catch?”

    “There is no catch.” The voice replied. “It is a genuine offer.”

    John took a breath and then said. “I shall need to think about it.” If it was a genuine offer, then perhaps he should take it. He would be foolish not to. But something in his mind was telling him that there was something wrong with it. Something not quite right.

    The voice said nothing then, and a silence fell between them. John wanted to ask why the voice was still there, if indeed it was, and it wasn’t just an illusion, but before he could, the voice spoke again. “There was something else that you are to know.”

    “And what is that?” John asked.

    “Henry of Lancaster has named your son as Earl of Oxford.” The voice said.

    “What?!” John exclaimed, if that was true it meant the King considered him dead.

    “Yes, it seems Henry of Lancaster believes that you are a dead man.” the voice said. “So, I ask you again, do you want to be his man, or change and side with the King?”

    John took a deep breath. “How do I know you are speaking the truth?”

    The voice laughed and then thrust something at John. He picked up the thing and read it. “What is this?” He couldn’t read the writing; it was barely legible.

    “A letter from a friend in Truro confirming what I’ve just told you.” The voice said.

    John looked at it, and was able to make out a few words, but he still didn’t feel that this information was right. The King must know that he hadn’t been killed. But then what was this. He handed the thing back and said. “I will think about it.”

    “Very well.” The voice said, he heard movement and then the voice said. “Be ready.”

    “Sorry?” John asked.

    The voice and the figure it belonged to came into greater focus then and John gasped. “There will be an attempt on you, be ready.”

    “Dee?” John exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

    The man laughed. “Helping you.”
     
    • Chapter 126: Calais

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    Chapter 126: Calais

    July, 1460

    ​

    “We have enough food to last us through the winter, Sir.” John Dynham, the treasurer of Calais said.

    “And the imports?” Sir Lionel Welles, Captain of Calais asked. “How badly affected are they?”

    “We’re running short by at least twenty percent, Sir.” Dynham replied.

    Lionel sighed. That was not good. Not good at all. “Very well, you’ve kept the food in the appropriate places?” If the food was anywhere near the beggars, then they were all screwed.

    “Yes, Sir. It’s been kept in the City Hall’s granaries and in the fortress.” Dynham said.

    “Excellent.” Welles replied, both places were practically impregnable.

    “There was another matter, Sir.” Dynham said.

    Lionel sighed. He could only imagine what that matter would be. “Go on.”

    “Some of the garrison are worried about the defences of the city.” Dynham said. “They worry that we’ve been too focused on the north side, and thus have left the southern walls weakly defended.”

    “And are they, right?” Lionel asked. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were. He’d been terrified that York would send ships from London to try and bombard them, hence he’d shifted the cannons from the south to the north, but so far nothing had come.

    Dynham sighed. “I fear they might be, Sir. We know the French are coming, but we don’t know where they’re coming from. It could be from Paris, in which case the western wall is under threat, or it could be from the Dauphine, in which the south wall is under threat. Or it could be both.”

    “So, what do you propose?” Lionel asked. He was very much aware that moving those cannons would take time.

    “I think it would be wise to start moving the cannons now, Sir. The sooner the better.” Dynham said. “I would also recommend preparing the long guns.”

    “The long guns?” Lionel replied. The long guns were a new type of gun developed in Calais that it was claimed could provide better aim and take out an enemy from miles away. They’d never been tried before, and Lionel was hesitant to try them now.

    “Yes, Sir. I think this would be the best chance to try them out.” Dynham said.

    “I do not know if it is wise to try out something so new against an enemy such as the French.” Lionel countered. “What if it all goes wrong?”

    “Then it goes wrong, Sir. But at least you would know that you did everything that you could.” Dynham said. “The alternative is worse.”

    The alternative was engaging in a long siege that would no doubt lead to Calais’ fall. Lionel didn’t want to be the man who gave up Calais to the French. Such a humiliation would be too much to bear. He had tried to get help from Truro where the King was, but the man had understandably been too busy to send much in the way of assistance. As for York, well, Lionel was half convinced that the man wanted Calais to fall.

    Lionel took a breath and then said. “Tell the men to get the guns ready.”

    “Sir.” Dynham replied, bowing once and hurrying off.

    Lionel was left alone to brood over what had become of the entire thing. He had arrived in Calais a few years ago, when things had been looking reasonably well for the King. But now the situation had deteriorated. York sat the throne and that man seemed content to allow the last remaining part of English held France to fall into French hands. He had done nothing to strengthen the garrison, other than send his nephew Bourchier out to try and take control. Lionel had thrown the man into a cell and sent his retainers packing.

    Perhaps he shouldn’t have done that.

    But then, the man had refused to acknowledge the King as the King and had insisted that York was the King. Such foolishness was not something Lionel could tolerate.

    His wife had berated him for that.

    She had claimed that with her daughter married to York’s son they should abandon the King. Lionel had hit her and told her never to say those words again. She hadn’t but he got the feeling she was communicating with her daughter still.

    Lionel didn’t trust his wife. He barely trusted Dynham. The man had ties to York, though so far he’d been unfailingly loyal to the King. And yet, there was a part of Lionel that whispered against Dynham. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say.

    “Sir.” A voice said, interrupting his thoughts.

    Lionel turned and saw Dynham standing there, panting.

    “What is it?” Lionel asked.

    “Banners have been spotted to the south.” Dynham said.

    Lionel got up then. “Whose banners?”

    “French banners, Sir.” Dynham said.

    “Fuck.” Lionel replied, it had begun then.
     
    • Chapter 127: Heir's Fare

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    Chapter 127: Heir’s Fare

    August, 1460

    ​

    “The King refuses to send men to Calais.” Edward said, looking at his brother Edmund. Edmund put down the book he was reading and asked.

    “Why?”

    Edward shrugged. His father had not explicitly said why, but he could suspect a reason. “Wants to teach Welles a lesson.”

    “And lose our last possession in France?” Edmund asked, frowning.

    “I don’t think he’ll let it get that far.” Edward said. At least he hoped not.

    “I’m not sure.” Edmund replied. “After all the King seems convinced that Henry of Lancaster is going to move out from Truro, or that Northumberland is going to do something. You yourself said he’d ordered Salisbury to march northwards.”

    That was true, Edward remembered the argument that the King and the Archbishop of Canterbury had had over that. Canterbury had suggested Salisbury come back south from Coventry, but the King had insisted that he go north. Canterbury had stormed out. “True, but how long do you think it would take for the King to gather a force of men and send it out to help the garrison?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe a month?” Edmund said.

    “Less than that.” Edward said.

    “How do you know?” Edmund asked.

    “Because I’ve been preparing men for weeks now. On the King’s orders.” Edward said, ever since Oxford had refused his offer, the King had ordered Edward to start preparing men from Royal Household and elsewhere, for what he didn’t know.

    “And you think those men are going to be sent off to Calais?” Edmund asked, he sounded sceptical, and truth be told, Edward couldn’t blame him. He was sceptical of it as well now that he’d had time to think it through.

    “Perhaps. I suppose it all depends on what the King wants.” Edward said.

    “True.” Edmund agreed. “I suppose Welles could’ve made his case a bit easier if he hadn’t thrown our cousin Henry in a cell.”

    Edward laughed. Their cousin Henry had been appointed Captain of Calais by the King and sent to take control of the city, only to be rebuffed by Welles and thrown in a cell within the city, for daring to state that fact. Of course, Henry hadn’t helped himself with his pomposity but still. “Indeed not.”

    They both fell silent then and Edward got the sense that his brother was trying not to pry any further. From the way, the younger man’s brow was furrowed, Edward knew that this was taking a lot of effort for him. Edward could understand that. His brother was a naturally curious person and thus not being able to engage further in council discussion must be infuriating for him. Why the King hadn’t included him on the council yet, Edward didn’t know.

    He decided to break the silence then. “Do you know when you’re going to Ireland?” That might give his brother something useful to do.

    “No.” Edmund said. “It’s supposed to be sometime soon. But I imagine with the waters being unsafe it might be delayed.”

    Edward nodded. “Must be a relief for you though. Not having to travel with a small child.” His nephew was a delightful bundle of emotion just now. Edward didn’t mind, but he also knew his brother was prone to panicking.

    Edmund grunted. “I’m more worried about Margaret. The birth really took it out of her.”

    “But she’s doing well now right?” Edward asked.

    “Somewhat yes.” Edmund said.

    “That’s good.” Edward said. The rest would do them well.

    His brother changed topic suddenly. “And what of you? Have you decided on a bride?”

    Edward laughed. That was cheeky of his brother. “Marie of Foix.”

    “Why her?” Edmund asked.

    “Because she’s the same age as me.” Edward said. He didn’t want to marry some old bat like the Portuguese Infanta.

    Edmund snorted. “You do know that the Infanta is probably going to be more of a match for you. She’s supposed to be very smart, if our ambassador is right.”

    Edward grinned. “True, but we’ve got Margaret for the smarts, don’t we?”

    Edmund laughed. “I suppose so.”

    Edward was about to say something else when a servant entered the room. The man bowed and then said. “His Majesty asks that Your Royal Highnesses join him in the Council Chamber, it is urgent.”

    Edward looked at his brother and wondered what it could be.
     
    • Chapter 128: Woofferton

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    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.
     
    • Chapter 129: Prisoner

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    Chapter 129: Prisoner

    September, 1460

    ​

    The cell door opened and he stepped into the cell. The prisoner had the beginnings of a beard on his chin, it made him look handsome, not that he hadn’t looked handsome before, but now he definitely did. That was the Beaufort in him, shining through then.

    Henry looked at the man, the man looked up at him and said. “Your Highness.”

    The use of the word Highness grated on Henry. He knew that York had declared that he was Majesty and his children Royal Highnesses, and that Henry as a male line descendant of Edward III was a Highness, but it was all wrong.

    “Your Majesty, you mean.” Henry said calmly.

    The man snorted. “You do not sit the throne.”

    Henry felt the urge to strike the man, if he had been his uncle Humphrey, he would have done, but then, Henry imagined that his uncle Humphrey would never have gotten into this mess to begin with. “I am the anointed King.”

    “So is he.” The man replied.

    The he needed no explanation. York stalked every movement Henry made.

    “That will be corrected in good time.” Henry answered.

    The man laughed then. It was a bitter and brittle sound. Perhaps the blows that Henry had allowed to be meted out to the man after that battle had done him harm. He waited and when the man stopped laughing he spoke. “Your army is broken; your commanders are dead or in chains. Your soldiers have fled back to Coventry. Tell me, how do you think you will escape this?”

    The man smiled at him then, and in that smile Henry saw some of the madness that had impacted him before. Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick answered with a hint of glee in his eyes. “With luck and the will of God. You may have defeated my army at Woofferton but you cannot keep winning. The fact that we are in Caernarvon and not marching to London tells me you know that as well, Highness.”

    The urge to hit Warwick rose again, Henry forced it down. “And why do you think that?”

    “Because London is the key. Anything that stops you from going to London is one more day that allows the King to consolidate.” Warwick replied.

    Much as he hated to admit it, the man was right. Henry knew that there was a lot that needed to be done before he could march on London. The march from Truro to the Midlands had exhausted his army, and fighting Warwick’s men had exhausted it further. The march to Caernarvon had been ordered to give them a proper base. Henry had considered Warwick Castle but then had decided against it. It had taken them three weeks to get here, and in those three weeks, they’d lost men to illness and to injury. The Earl of Devon had died, and his brother was close to death as well. And there were others who had died. Buckingham was close to death.

    It had gone right in that they’d crushed Warwick’s army and captured Warwick himself, but it had also gone wrong in that many of his commanders were ailing. He couldn’t leave here until they were better.

    “So, what are you going to do with me?” Warwick asked.

    “Put you on trial.” Henry answered. He had considered offering a prisoner exchange, Warwick for Oxford, but had decided against that. Warwick was dangerous after all.

    “With what peerage?” Warwick asked. “Aren’t most of the Lords in London?”

    Henry bristled at that. “No, many of them are here. The Great Lords are here. That will be enough.” He hoped.

    Warwick sighed. “I suppose so.” There was a brief moment of silence and then Warwick spoke again. “Do you think you can win this war?”

    Henry was surprised by the question. Or rather he supposed he was surprised Warwick was asking it. He had thought that the man would have taken York’s complete victory as a given. Henry had until victory at Woofferton. “Yes.” Henry said after some time.

    “Then you had best be prepared for a long war.” Warwick said.

    “Is that a threat?” Henry asked.

    Warwick shook his head. “No, that’s just a reality, Highness. The King won’t give up without a fight, and I suspect you won’t either. Only England will suffer.”

    “York should have thought of that before he usurped the throne.” Henry snapped, turning to leave. He got to the door when Warwick muttered something.

    “What was that?” Henry asked, turning around.

    Warwick looked at him and said. “You should have thought of that before you kept Somerset alive.” Henry sighed and walked out of the cell. Warwick was right. He should’ve thought of that. But he hadn’t. And now here they were.
     
    • Chapter 130: Queen and King

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    Chapter 130: Queen and King

    September, 1460

    ​

    “Henry has Warwick.” Her husband, King Richard said. “Word came this morning from one of your nephews.”

    “How?” Cecily asked. She had thought that her nephew would never be defeated, and how had Henry of Lancaster managed to capture him anyway?

    “He chased Buckingham to a village called Woofferton and thought he’d have an easy win. It was a trap. Henry’s men ambushed him.” Richard said.

    Cecily looked at her husband and saw that there were lines near his eyes. “How many died?” She asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

    “I don’t know. There’s been no proper count.” Richard said.

    “What are you going to do?” She asked.

    Richard sighed, he sounded so tired as he did so, and his shoulders slumped. Cecily felt guilty for asking, but she knew she needed to talk this through with him. “There are two options before me. Either I negotiate with Henry. Exchange Oxford for Warwick. Or I do nothing.”

    “And which one are you leaning toward?” Cecily asked. She wouldn’t exchange Oxford for Warwick. Oxford was influential, and they were still trying to turn him.

    “I don’t know.” Richard said.

    “You don’t know or you don’t want to put words to it?” Cecily asked.

    Richard looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

    Cecily looked at her husband and said. “We both know that Warwick is valuable, not only as a commander and politician but as a member of the family. But Oxford is one of the premier peers of the realm. He is Henry’s chief lieutenant, and his most capable commander. If we hold onto him, eventually he will crack, as will his family. It is better to keep him than to waste that opportunity.”

    “And what about your brother?” Richard asked.

    “What about him?” Cecily asked.

    “Well, he’s off fighting the Percies and Westmorland in the north, he will expect us to do something to get his son out.” Richard said.

    Cecily considered that. Her brother would definitely want them to do something. But she didn’t know if he’d be quite in agreement that they should hand over Oxford. He had been the one to push for them trying to turn Oxford, if Cecily remembered correctly. “He will deal with it appropriately.” She replied.

    Richard snorted. “I don’t think you know your brother that well.”

    Cecily frowned at her husband. “Then what do you propose?”

    “That we use Edward and his men for a quick run on Henry of Lancaster.” Richard said.

    “You mean send him to Wales?” Cecily asked horrified. That would be his death.

    “No.” Richard said. “I will deal with Wales. I mean to send him to Cornwall. Let us see whether our son can take it.”

    Cecily’s frown deepened. Cornwall was where the Lancastrian Queen and the Lancastrian heir were. If their son went there, there was the chance of ending this entire war, but also of it going incredibly wrong. “Do you think that’s the right thing to do?”

    “Yes.” Richard said in a manner that convinced her he had already made up his mind. “He needs to prove himself. He is the right age to fight now.”

    “Very well.” Cecily said.

    She took a moment to think then. If Edward was going to be going off to war, they needed to ensure he was married. So, she asked. “What word has there been about Edward’s betrothal?”

    “The Count of Foix is in agreement that the marriage can go ahead. He just wants a sign of stability.” Richard said.

    “Hence sending Edward to Cornwall?” Cecily asked.

    “Yes.” Richard said.

    Cecily didn’t raise the obvious point that the betrothal would be useless if their son died in Cornwall. Instead she asked. “And what about Elizabeth’s betrothal?”

    Here her husband sighed and his shoulders which had risen slumped again. “Brittany is being obstinate. He is now changing his mind about the whole thing. I suspect it might be because of Calais.” Cecily felt her frown return. Calais, that thorn in their side.

    “So, what are you going to do?” Cecily asked.

    “The Count of Charolais has recently lost his wife, so, I shall propose that Elizabeth marry him.” Richard answered.

    Cecily nodded, that would be a sensible marriage. It would renew trade with an old ally, and ensure that they had someone who could aid them should the French end up pressing more than they were currently. “And what about our sons?” George and Thomas were children yet, but it was important to think about their marriages now.

    “Warwick’s girls.” Richard said automatically. “Well, George will marry the eldest one. I have not a clue who Thomas will marry.”

    Cecily thought on that. She supposed it made sense, there didn’t seem to be a chance that Warwick’s wife would give him a son, thus making his eldest daughter one of the most attractive brides in England. If George could get her, then he would be set. Thomas’ bride was an issue, but he was young yet. Surely someone would appear?

    “I think that works.” She said then when she realised she hadn’t actually answered her husband.

    Richard nodded his agreement then said. “And I think our youngest must enter the church.”

    Cecily opened her mouth to protest but then closed it. Richard, their youngest son had a slight shoulder issue and wasn’t as strong as his brothers. Perhaps the church would be a blessing. “We should wait and see.” Was all she said.
     
    • Chapter 131: Calais Again

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    Chapter 131: Calais Again

    November, 1460

    ​

    It was cold. Bitterly cold. Some of the men thought that meant snow was approaching, but Lionel doubted it. It hadn’t snowed in Calais for twenty years if some of the locals were to be believed so why would it start snowing now? They wouldn’t be so fortunate. Snow would dampen the ability of the French and their efforts at getting them to capitulate.

    Lionel looked out over the wall and sighed. The French seemed convinced that capitulation was coming any day now. And truth be told he couldn’t blame them. He wanted to surrender, but his pride was preventing him from doing so. His pride and his desire to see if they could stretch this out for as long as possible.

    He took another breath as he saw horses coming closer to the walls. He took a looking glass out of his pocket and put it to his eye. He saw three men riding toward them. One on a black stallion was the Dauphin. He was the key to all this.

    Lionel put the looking glass away and then turned to Dynham. “He’s coming.”

    “Sir?” Dynham replied.

    “The Dauphin, he’s coming here.” Lionel said.

    “What do you think he’s coming for, Sir?” Dynham asked.

    “To talk.” Lionel answered.

    “Should we go down, Sir?” Dynham asked.

    Lionel shook his head. “No, we’ll stay here, let that French bastard shout.”

    Dynham said nothing and so they remained where they were, waiting for the eventual sound of horses’ hooves and whatever other symbolism the Dauphin decided to use to show that he was here. Lionel took several deep breaths to calm himself. He didn’t want to be nervous, but that was a natural state. The fate of England in France rested on his shoulders and nobody else’s.

    A horn sounded and Lionel glanced down. The Dauphin and his men were there.

    “Sir Lionel!” One of the Frenchmen called in heavily accented English. “His Royal Highness has come to treat with you. Come down.”

    “Whatever he has to say, he can say from there. I am not coming down.” Lionel shouted down.

    There was a brief pause as the man looked at the Dauphin, clearly the Dauphin was annoyed, but the man shouted back. “As you wish.”

    “Why have you come?” Lionel demanded.

    The man said nothing for a beat and then said. “We have come to make you an offer.”

    Lionel took a moment and then deciding that it was ridiculous to keep shouting, turned and walked away from the wall. Dynham followed him, they walked down the steps, and then walked toward the gate, Dynham called for it to be raised, once it had been raised, Lionel and Dynham stood in the gateway and stared at the Dauphin and his men. “What offer?” Lionel asked.

    “If you surrender Calais, the garrison and their families shall be allowed to return to England, unmolested.” The man said.

    “And the other Englishmen who are here?” Lionel asked.

    “They will be given a choice. Leave with you, or remain and become French subjects.” The man said.

    Lionel considered this. It was a generous offer. Perhaps too generous. There was something in this that he wasn’t seeing. “How long do we have to consider this?” He asked.

    The man looked at the Dauphin and who nodded. “A day.”

    “A day?” Lionel asked. That wasn’t long enough. He’d need to send word to London and to Truro.

    “Is there a problem?” the man asked.

    “No.” Lionel lied. “Thank you, we shall consider it and let you know in due course.” Lionel turned and walked back inside, Dynham accompanied him, the gate was raised. Lionel took a breath, called for a horse and then made his way over to the City Hall, where he summoned the main members of his council. Dynham amongst them.

    Once they were all gathered, Lionel spoke quickly and without pause. “The French have offered us terms. They will allow us to surrender and for the garrison to leave with their families to England. Those citizens who were here before, are to be given a choice. Either they leave with us or become French subjects.”

    He waited to see who would speak first. He was not surprised when Andrew Trollope, the Master Porter spoke. “I don’t think we should take this.”

    Lionel looked at him and asked. “Why?”

    “The offer is too good to be true. There is probably some catch.” Trollope replied.

    “What catch?” Dynham asked.

    “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t rule it out.” Trollope said.

    Lionel could see Trollope’s point, but he also worried about how long they could realistically hold out for. He turned to Sir William Talbot and asked him. “Those guns that have been developed, are they ready for use?” Long range guns, that Talbot had apparently had designed based on drawings he’d gotten from a Venetian merchant who’d travelled to the Far-East.

    “Yes, Sir.” Talbot said.

    “But?” Lionel asked. There was always a but with Talbot.

    “But they make a terrible noise when fired.” Talbot replied. “And that might give it away.”

    “And? It’s either that or we surrender!” Trollope snarled. “I know which I’d rather go for.”

    “I agree.” Dynham said. “We must try them.”

    Lionel considered this. He supposed there really was nothing left to lose. They had a day to consider their choices, but if they could lure the French here and take off the Dauphin, perhaps it would be worth it. “Very well, prepare the guns.”

    “Sir.” Talbot said.
     
    • Chapter 132: Salisbury

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    Chapter 132: Salisbury

    February, 1461

    ​

    “How many men do we have and do we have enough to feed them?” Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury asked.

    His son Thomas, with a cut under his right eye, answered. “We’ve got one thousand men thereabouts, Sir. And we’re running low on food.”

    “How low?” Richard asked.

    “We may be out of food by July.” Thomas said.

    “July?” Richard said. July was far away, but he knew how quickly food could go when one was on the march or fighting.

    “Yes, Sir.” Thomas said. “I know that that may be a while away, but given the situation in the wider kingdom I feel that there is perhaps time to sort things out now.”

    “Meaning?” Richard asked. The problem with Thomas was that he sometimes spoke in riddles, that made it hard to truly understand what he was meaning.

    “The longer Henry of Lancaster remains on the loose, the greater the chances are that we find ourselves stuck in a never-ending war.” Thomas said.

    Richard grunted, that was true. That had been what had befallen them in France. “So, what do you suggest?” He asked.

    “We must engage the Percies.” Thomas said.

    “Engage them?” Richard’s lieutenant Charles asked.

    “Yes, that is the only way we can end this.” Thomas said.

    “Where would you have us engage them?” Richard asked curious to see what his son would say.

    “Between the grassy mound and Cockermouth itself.” Thomas said. “The ground there is flat, which will make a battle fairer, and the sky is clear, or usually is, which will make it easier for our archers to see them.”

    “But it will also hand them the same advantages.” Charles pointed out.

    “Unless of course they are panicking.” Richard said, as a thought came to him.

    “Sir?” Charles asked, his eyebrows raised.

    “Northumberland knows how to fight, but Westmorland doesn’t. Westmoreland has also harboured a grudge against me his entire life. The moment he learns that we are coming, that I am coming, he will panic.” Richard said. He could visualise it now. His nephew desperately trying to cobble together his calm and reserve in the fight against his will to kill him. “As such that will mean all sorts of things. They will not be united.”

    “And so we exploit that.” Thomas said. “Lay down a challenge.”

    “Exactly.” Richard said. “We lay down a challenge and see if they pick it up.” If he had gotten his nephew right, the man would pick it up. To not do so would be the height of dishonour.

    “Do you think that is wise, Sir?” Charles asked. “Given the time of year and the conditions?”

    “Is there any other course?” Richard asked. If there was he would listen intently, but as far as he could see from racking his mind for the past two months, there was no other way.

    “None that aren’t just as dangerous, Sir.” Charles said.

    “Well, there you go then.” Richard said. “It is decided. We shall pursue this strategy. I want the men prepared by first light tomorrow.”

    “Sir.” Charles replied, standing up and bowing once before departing.

    Once he was gone, Richard looked at Thomas and said. “Once Northumberland and Westmorland are dead, we shall move on Henry of Lancaster.”

    “Sir.” His son replied.

    “It’s time we ended this.” Richard said.
     
    • Chapter 133: Scotland Ah Hoy

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    Banned
    Chapter 133: Scotland Ah Hoy

    April, 1461

    ​

    “Alexander was sighted trying to cross back into Ross, Sire.” The Earl of Caithness said.

    “And?” James asked. The Lord of the Isles had been attainted but had escaped capture the last time they’d tried to hunt him down.

    “He managed to get as far as the northern tip before fleeing.” Caithness answered.

    James grunted. “Who told him?” They had men waiting at all the entrances towards Ross, waiting for the man. If he had fled, he must have known.

    “It’s possible one of his cousins may have said something, Sire.” The Bishop of Glasgow said. “After all, they flit between loyalties like a cat.”

    James sighed, that was true. It didn’t make it any easier to stomach though. “Have them all questioned, I want an answer.” He was getting tired of chasing Alexander of Islay. He wanted this done and dusted with.

    “Sire.” Caithness said.

    “Actually, I want you to lead an expedition to the Isles.” James said focusing on Caithness.

    “Sire?” Caithness replied his eyes wide.

    “Don’t look so surprised. You know the area; you have contacts within the region. You have ties to the north. You are the perfect person to send.” James said. He’d thought about this for some time and he was convinced it was the right way to approach things. Caithness had the charm as well.

    “Are you sure, Sire? Surely my place is at your side?” Caithness said, he sounded as though he was pleading with James.

    James shook his head. “You have served me well on the council, but the time has come to use your knowledge of the Isles. You are to depart at the end of the month. Take your best men with you.”

    “Sire.” Caithness said bowing his head.

    James then turned his attention to his brother John Stewart, 1st Earl of Atholl and asked. “What word from the south?”

    His brother smiled, the sort of smile one might expect from a predator who has finally caught his prey. “England is on fire, Sire.”

    “Go on.” James said.

    “Henry of Lancaster holds most of Wales, Richard of York sits in London, meanwhile Calais is under siege. Furthermore, the Nevilles and Percies are fighting their own personal war. Indeed, it seems that the Nevilles have retaken Cockermouth, which puts the balance of power in the north of England on a knife’s edge.” Atholl said.

    “And?” James asked.

    “I think this is the right time to strike southwards and retake Roxburgh.” His brother said.

    James considered this. “How protected is Roxburgh?”

    “There are perhaps twenty men in the place.” Atholl said. “And they are hungry and without pay.”

    “So, they would easily surrender?” James asked.

    “I think so, yes.” Atholl said.

    James considered this, an easy victory would do wonders, but he was reluctant to directly go for the territory given the chances that it could unite the English. That was why he said. “Send word to both Henry of Lancaster and to Richard of York.”

    “Sire?” His brother asked.

    “Tell Henry of Lancaster that if he wants our support he must hand over Roxburgh. And tell York that if he wants our support he must hand over Roxburgh as a dowry for his great-niece.” James said.

    “And who might York’s great-niece marry, Sire?” Atholl asked.

    “Alexander, our second son.” James said. It was time he started considering marriages for his other children after all.

    Atholl looked as if he wasn’t sure whether the English would agree to this, but he verbalised his compliance nonetheless. “I shall do so, Sire.”

    James nodded, he then looked at Glasgow and asked. “Will we require a dispensation for the marriage, Your Grace?”

    Glasgow took a moment to consider the question and then he answered. “Not in the immediate provision no, Sire.”

    “Very well.” James said, he turned back to look at Atholl. “Send the letters off today.”

    “Sire.” Atholl replied bowing his head in acknowledgement.

    James was intrigued to see how this would all go.
     
    • Chapter 134: Left Behind

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    Banned
    Chapter 134: Left Behind

    May, 1461

    ​

    Margaret found herself struggling to pay attention as her mother in law, the Queen spoke about something or the other. Her mind kept wandering off to Edmund, and what he was doing and whether he was safe. Edmund had left London with the King and an army of some five thousand men, marching for Wales and Henry of Lancaster. The plan it seemed was to fight the Lancastrian army in Wales, defeat them, and take the man prisoner. Prince Edward had left for Cornwall with two thousand men at the same time.

    Margaret looked at the Queen and wondered how she could remain so calm, whilst all of this was happening. Was it age and experience, or something else? Margaret wanted to ask, but felt it might be inappropriate to do so.

    However, it seemed that the Queen had decided for her. “Are you quite well, Margaret?”

    Margaret blinked and found the Queen looking at her. “Your Majesty?” She replied.

    “Are you well? You look awfully pale.” The Queen said.

    Margaret blinked and then said. “I am about as well as one can be, Majesty.”

    “You are worried about Edmund, aren’t you?” The Queen asked.

    Margaret wanted to lie and say she wasn’t but the way the Queen was looking at her prompted her to say. “I am, Majesty.”

    The Queen nodded in understanding. “Understandable, I am worried about the King and my sons as well. It is only a natural response.”

    Margaret nodded and then asked. “Does it get any easier?” She didn’t think she could go on with this constant gnawing ache in her stomach whenever Edmund went off to war.

    “It depends.” The Queen answered.

    “Majesty?” Margaret asked, unsure of what the Queen meant.

    “War is the most terrifying experiences a wife can go through. You never know if the time you say goodbye to your husband will be the last time you see them or not. But there is not much we can do. Therefore, it is important to focus on the things that we can control.” The Queen replied. “Such as the feast that the King wants for his return.”

    Margaret nodded, and then listened as her sister in law Elizabeth spoke. “I’ve spoken with the Lord Chamberlain and the Lord Steward, everything is as it should be. There is enough food and wine to cater to the people that the King wants. I’ve also spoken with the Lord Chamberlain about the merchant guilds. They are more than happy to attend.”

    “That is very good.” The Queen said. That was an understatement, given how important the merchants were to the King’s support base, Margaret was intrigued to know what things had been offered to them to keep them onside. Especially as Calais was either gone into French hands or about to.

    “And Margaret, what have you got for us?” The Queen asked.

    Margaret took a breath, she’d been tasked with organising the entertainment for the feast and throughout her time organising the thing, she’d found herself learning more about the family she’d married into. Of course, right now the Queen wanted an answer and so she said. “The Merchant Band of Singers has agreed to attend. As has the Troop of Horsemen.”

    “Excellent.” The Queen said.

    “How did you get the Troop of Horsemen to agree?” Her sister in law Margaret asked, awe in her voice.

    Margaret smiled. “I know one of the singers.” Her sister’s brother in law was a member after all.

    “Very good.” The Queen said. The conversation turned into something else, and Margaret tuned out ever so slightly, her mind returning to Edmund. She wondered what he was doing, whether he was thinking of her and their son, and whether or not he’d return to meet their new child. A hand flitted to her belly. She was only about two months gone, but she was sure she was with child. She hoped he’d be there to say hello to their child.
     
    • Chapter 135: I Vow To Thee My King

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    Chapter 135: I Vow To Thee My King

    June, 1461

    ​

    His leg was killing him. The lumps were growing by the day. Soon enough they would have to amputate the whole thing, and then what would he be? A crippled one legged King? He wouldn’t survive. His son and his courtiers would see to that.

    How had it come to this?

    How had he gone from being the man who had reclaimed France for the Valois, to being a crippled man unable to walk or even stand up?

    God had played him a cruel hand. A very cruel hand.

    He supposed it was because of his relationship with Louis, his eldest son. They’d been very close when Louis had been a boy, but as he’d grown into adulthood, something had changed. His son had stopped being the boy and had become a man.

    “Sire?” A voice said distantly.

    “What is it?” Charles asked, not bothering to look up.

    “Sir Jean is here; he wishes to speak with you.” The voice said.

    Jean, the son of the Duke of Alencon, a man who was rotting in a cell. Charles supposed he should listen to the man. “Send him in.” Charles commanded.

    “Sire.” The voice replied. Charles heard footsteps, and then a moment later, another voice, deeper spoke.

    “Sire.”

    “What is it?” Charles asked.

    “I have come from Calais, Sire.” The voice said.

    “Calais?” Charles asked. Louis was laying siege to Calais, why was this man here then?

    “Yes, Sire.” The voice said.

    “And? What word from the Dauphin?” Charles asked. Had his son succeeded in taking the city? Had the English been driven from France at last?

    “There has been an incident.” The voice replied.

    “An incident?” Charles asked. “What sort of incident?” What did that mean? Why were these words so vague? He wanted answers, dammit!

    “The English had a special type of gun that allowed them to fire at long range, with greater accuracy than anything we’ve ever seen before.” The voice said.

    “And?” Charles asked. What did this have to do with anything?

    “They used these guns during the siege. As a last resort, it seems, after refusing the offer that His Royal Highness the Dauphin made them.” The voice said.

    “He made them an offer?” Charles asked. What sort of offer would his son have made?

    “If they surrendered the garrison, their families could return to England, and those who were citizens of the city could decide who to swear allegiance to.” The voice said.

    A decent offer, considering. Charles took a breath, perhaps all was not lost for his son. “And then what happened?”

    “The English refused and used their guns.” The voice said.

    Something settled in Charles’ stomach. It was not a good feeling; it was not a pleasant feeling. He suspected something had gone wrong. “And what happened?” He demanded.

    “Chaos, Sire.” The voice said, changing ever so slightly. “Absolute chaos. Our army was torn to shreds as our senior commanders were slain.”

    “How?” Charles demanded, how was it possible for these guns to do such damage?

    “The guns worked as they were meant to.” The voice said.

    “And my son? What happened to my son?!” Charles demanded.

    “His Royal Highness was slain, he died bravely, Sire.” The voice said.

    His son was dead. Louis was dead. “Calais is lost then?” Charles asked, his voice breaking.

    “Sire.” The voice replied.

    “And my son?” Charles asked.

    “His body is being brought home, Sire.” The voice replied.

    “Good.” Charles said. His son was dead. His pride and joy. Gone. God had taken everything from him.
     
    • Chapter 136: Trial

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    Banned
    Chapter 136: Trial

    June, 1461

    ​

    The doors opened and Richard was led to a chair right in the middle of the great hall. He sat down, his chains rattling as he did so. Before him sat at the great table, were the King, dressed in red, the Chief Justice and the Bishop of Bangor. The three men who would judge him. Richard was entitled to a trial by his peers, but given the circumstances, it seemed the King and his advisors had gone for this.

    The Chief Justice spoke then. “Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, heir to Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury you have been brought before this court today to answer a crime of High Treason. We shall ask you questions and you shall answer, do you understand?”

    “I do.” Richard said.

    The Chief Justice scowled at his lack of deference but continued. “Why did you side with Richard, Duke of York in his rebellion?”

    “Because he is the rightful King.” Richard answered.

    The Chief Justice snorted. “You lie convincingly, but you still lie.”

    “I am not lying.” Richard replied. “By the laws of our Kingdom, the House of York has a superior claim to the throne.”

    “Which laws would they be?” The Chief Justice asked.

    “The laws which saw Henry Fitzempress ascend the throne over Stephen of Blois son. The laws which saw King Richard II refuse to name Henry Bolingbroke as his heir and instead confirmed the House of Mortimer as his heirs.” Richard said.

    “Those laws were removed when Henry IV ascended the throne.” The Chief Justice said. “And you and your family acknowledged that when you swore allegiance, not only to King Henry IV, but to his son and to his grandson, the King. You have broken the law.”

    “An oath made with a sword over your head is no oath.” Richard retorted.

    “And who held the sword over your head, my lord?” The Bishop of Bangor asked.

    Richard looked at the Bishop, noted how frail and decrepit he looked and said. “Not over my head, but my grandfather’s head.”

    “And how did they do that?” The Bishop asked.

    “Well the man was promised something and then threatened into supporting the Lancastrians when he realised that the man had lied.” Richard said. He noticed that the King wasn’t even responding to these things that he was saying. That was most odd.

    “And yet, both yourself and your father held to these oaths.” The Bishop pointed out. “Oaths made before God. Why?”

    Richard didn’t know how to answer that. The Bishop had a point. But at the same time, there was one argument he supposed he could make. “When a family’s life depends on a lie, it is easy to keep the lie going.”

    “Is that what this was then?” The Bishop asked.

    “Yes.” Richard said. “And as Your Grace knows, to lie is a sin.”

    The Bishop smirked, but the Chief Justice spoke then, and he sounded furious. “Whether it was a lie or not, you held to this oath for decades until recently. Why?”

    Richard grinned at the Chief Justice. “Because the rightful King decided to step out of the shadows.”

    “The rightful King?” The Chief Justice asked. “The man whose father was illegitimate and a traitor.”

    “And whose mother descends from an older son of Edward III.” Richard countered.

    “And he is the one you want as King, is he?” The Chief Justice asked.

    “Evidently.” Richard replied.

    The Chief Justice exchanged a few words with the Bishop of Bangor. The King said nothing, indeed it did seem as though the King wasn’t actually present with them in the hall. After the Justice and the Bishop had finished talking, the Chief Justice nodded and Richard felt himself being hauled up and led out of the hall. He didn’t move back to his room, but was instead kept outside in the hallway.

    He wondered what the sentence would be. Would they execute him? Or would they spare him? If he was the King, he would execute him. He was too dangerous to be left alive.

    The doors opened and Richard was led back in, but this time he wasn’t forced to sit. He remained standing.

    The Chief Justice looked at him and said. “Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, the court has come to its judgement. We find you guilty of High Treason and as such we sentence you to death.”

    Richard didn’t say anything, he merely snorted.
     
    • Chapter 137: Confusion

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    Chapter 137: Confusion

    June, 1461

    ​

    The fight had been brutal. Henry had never experienced something like that before. It had been a mess of limbs and muscle and armour and steel. He’d killed four men before the retreat they’d planned had been ordered. That had been the plan, engage in a fight, then when the Yorkists thought they were winning, pull back and hope they would follow.

    They’d deliberately sent their scouts out far ahead of them to draw in Yorkist raiding parties from Ludlow, and as chance would have it, Richard, Duke of York had been amongst them. Like a fly to the light he had come scampering after them. A battle had been had at Llangadfan, and now they were trying to keep away from the Yorkists until Tudor could do what he needed to do.

    They were camped near Dinas Mawddwy, a small village that had some very good ale and food in it. The temptation to go there was strong, but Henry and his men resisted.

    “Lord Dorset.” A voice, Morgan’s, brought him out of his stupor.

    “Yes?” Henry asked, turning to face the man, he had a cut right above his right eye, it made him all the more attractive.

    “Lord Oxford is here; he wants to speak with you.” Morgan said.

    Henry frowned. Aubrey de Vere. He wasn’t really the Earl of Oxford, but that was what they all called him because his father was imprisoned in London, still. “Send him in.”

    Morgan bowed and left, returning only a moment later with de Vere. The man was handsome, Henry would give him that, and he was capable. It had been him who had suggested the feint to lure York into their final trap. Henry just hoped it worked. “My lord.” Henry said, by way of acknowledgement.

    “My lord.” De Vere said, remaining standing.

    “What was it you wished to discuss?” Henry asked, aware that he should invite the man to sit, but decided against it.

    “Tudor.” De Vere said.

    Henry took a breath. De Vere had suggested the feint, but he didn’t trust Tudor. He supposed he could understand that. After all, Tudor was a Welshman, in every sense of the word. His loyalty to the King was perhaps one of convenience and revenge. Whether he’d stick to the detail of their plan remained to be seen. “Go on.” Henry said.

    “I know that you are confident that he will hold to his part in this bargain of ours, but how do we know that he will, genuinely? The man’s use of his bowmen during the initial luring of York’s forces was sparing. That was not part of the agreement.” De Vere said.

    Henry sighed. Tudor hadn’t used his archers until the very last moment, just before Henry had ordered the charge. It had got his back up. “Because he is not a fool.” De Vere raised an eyebrow and Henry elaborated. “If he doesn’t do this then he is as dead as us.”

    “You think?” de Vere asked sceptically.

    “I don’t think, I know.” Henry said. “Tudor has loudly proclaimed his loyalty to the King and was responsible for bringing the other Welsh tribes in line, including those that previously stuck with York. If he doesn’t do what he needs to, then we have lost and we are all dead. York won’t let him live.”

    “And you think that will be enough to get him to do what needs to be done?” Aubrey de Vere asked.

    “Yes.” Henry said.

    De Vere grunted, but he still didn’t look convinced. Thankfully, he didn’t take the matter further and instead asked. “What next?”

    “Sorry?” Henry asked, though he suspected he knew what was coming.

    “When this is all done what next? We still need to take London.” Aubrey replied.

    “We shall go as the King has commanded.” Henry said, though it wasn’t the King who had commanded it, but rather Henry working with Fortescue who had decided their course.

    “Very well.” De Vere said.

    Henry nodded and then said. “We’d best get ready; we never know when Tudor might strike.” Hopefully it would be soon. He hated waiting.
     
    • Chapter 138: Something

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    Banned
    Chapter 138: Something

    June, 1461

    ​

    The battle had been ferocious. Edmund had never felt so alive but also so terrified. The air had seemed to constrict around him as the fighting had unfolded. Everything had moved so quickly. One moment he was preparing, the next moment, bodies were flying everywhere, and he was like an animal possessed.

    They’d fought and then the Lancastrians had moved away. Retreated. Some had thought that it was a victory, but the King had known better. He’d ordered them to follow the Lancastrians and so that was what they were doing now.

    Chasing their tail and hoping they’d find them. For some reason, Edmund suspected that there might be something more at play, but what he didn’t know. A grunt from his right forced him back into reality.

    He turned and looked at his cousin, Thomas Grey, recently created Marquess of Cambridge. The man had fought like a lion during the battle, but had suffered the consequences. A part of him seemed to be badly wounded, or at least heavily stitched.

    “What is it?” Edmund asked.

    “My bloody side.” Thomas replied.

    “What about it?” Edmund asked.

    “It’s bloody sore.” Thomas said.

    Edmund laughed. “Well, that’s what you get when you fight like a man possessed.”

    His cousin laughed. “True.” A moment of silence passed and then Thomas asked. “What do you think happens now?”

    “Now?” Edmund replied, he glanced at the King who was riding at the head of their procession. “Now, we keep marching until the King tells us to stop.”

    “And when will that be?” His cousin asked.

    “When we’ve found the sheep lovers.” Edmund quipped, where that joke had come from, he didn’t know, but as they’d travelled through Wales, he’d found it to be somewhat appropriate, given just how many sheep there were.

    “Fun.” Thomas said.

    There was another silence then as they continued to ride. Edmund glanced around, the trees were silent as was the wood. But something was lurking deep within, he could tell. How, he didn’t know, but he just could, and that worried him.

    “Did you hear that?” Thomas asked.

    Edmund was about to ask what that was, but then he heard it. It sounded like the wheeze of an old man. “Yes.” He replied.

    “Do you think the King heard it?” Thomas asked.

    Edmund was about to say something when he saw the King hold up his hand. The entire army stopped marching then. Edmund looked at his cousin then and whispered. “I think so.”

    His cousin grinned, then gestured with his hand, Edmund followed the gesture and saw that three of the King’s bodyguard had ventured out of the column and were moving toward where the sound seemed to have come from. Edmund was about to move forward to speak with the King when he heard the sound again.

    This time it sounded less like a wheeze and more like a roar of thunder.

    He shared a look with Thomas. “What do you think that was?” He asked.

    “I don’t know.” Thomas replied. “But whatever it is it’s getting closer. Listen.”

    Edmund listened and found that his cousin was right. The sound was getting closer and closer, and as it got closer, Edmund could have sworn he heard what sounded like drums. Was that an army approaching?

    He glanced around, the trees on either side of them limited the vision, and would naturally make it harder for them to actually see what was going on. He urged his horse forward then, and rode the short distance to the King. “Sire.” He said, bowing his head.

    “What is it?” His father, the King asked.

    “We need to get moving. We’re trapped here.” Edmund said.

    “Trapped?” The King replied. “What makes you say that?”

    Before Edmund could reply, one of the guards who had been sent out reappeared. The guard was covered in mud and his armour was dented. He was breathing heavily. “Sire, there are men out there. Welshmen.”

    “How many?” The King asked.

    “Too many to count, they are coming this way.” The man said.

    Edmund saw the King look at him and then at the trees, he saw the man come to same conclusion as him. He then heard the King bark out. “Ride, ride as fast you can, we must get out of here!”
     
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