The King's Dogge (23 page)

He spread his hands as he spoke and I had no doubt that he was telling the truth. For an instant, I had a glimpse of the murky world in which he operated, for his ambition was such that, in the service of Richard of Gloucester, Ratcliffe would be completely ruthless.

‘I've been watching you for some time now, Francis,' he murmured. ‘If you had been less successful, I would not have needed to have this conversation with you. But, against the odds, you have done well, and when you started raiding in Scotland – well, I knew it was time to step in.'

He smiled sadly.

‘You have become too big in these parts, Francis. If Gloucester came here now, you would eclipse him and you know it. So given that both of us want him to succeed here and elsewhere, by my reckoning, it is time for you to step down.'

‘And if I refuse?'

He looked at me in surprise.

‘With anyone else I would take drastic action, but I would do nothing to harm you.'

He stood up and put his hands on his hips.

‘But what I would say, were you to refuse, is that you would be behaving very badly towards the man who entrusted you with the West March in the first place and you would be putting your own interests in front of his. Is that how you choose to serve him?' He stared at me. ‘Are you really that selfish, Francis?'

His tone was reasonable and there was no hint of menace in his voice. As I looked at him, I realised that the talk must have been as uncomfortable for him as it had been for me. In all honesty too, everything he said was correct. The best way I could serve Richard was by not serving him here.

‘So what reason do I give Richard for resigning?' I enquired slowly.

‘You tell him that you have been in his service for a number of years and that you wish to spend some time with your wife on your estates,' Ratcliffe replied. ‘Naturally Gloucester will be surprised and probably a bit upset, but given that you will be helping him, that doesn't really matter, does it?'

Richard's arrival in the West March was highly successful; he was precisely what the people there wanted. He came not as a high and mighty duke and brother to the king, but as a plain and honest soldier. He did not charm with idle flattery, but rather he sought advice and counsel. He gave few commands, seemingly content to listen. Above all for a region plagued by Skiam and the Scots, he arrived as a general.

Quietly and methodically he won people over. During our tour of the Debateable Land, he sent his own escort back to Yorkshire, saying that the Carlisle horse was all the protection he would need. Dick Middleton was elevated to the ducal council to advise them of the best ways of using light horsemen.

Sir Christopher Moresby was delighted to hear that not only were the remaining repairs to the castle to be carried out immediately, but the duke was proposing to oversee the work programme himself.

Broughton and I took Richard to visit some of the larger landowners; others were entertained in Carlisle and they all took to him quickly. Indeed, Edward Franke advised me that so great an impression was made by Richard that most of them not only wrote off his debts to them but offered yet more financial aid.

At last the time arrived when I knew that I could do no more to assist Richard and told him that I would depart in two days' time. His face immediately fell.

‘But I have been comforted by your presence!' he complained. ‘I wish you would reconsider your decision.'

I smiled down at him.

‘I have been apart from my wife for too long,' I said with complete honesty. ‘But when you have need of me again, send for me, and you know that I will come.'

My words seemed to cheer him.

‘I know you will and I thank you – but Francis, delay your departure for one week more. There is something I wish to arrange.'

Broughton gestured towards the dark bulk of Carlisle's main gatehouse lay.

‘It will be completely dark soon,' he said. ‘Are you ready?'

I swallowed nervously.

‘Not yet.'

He grinned at me and in the gloom his teeth glowed whitely.

‘That's all right, Francis. And remember – I'm right behind you at all times.'

I smiled back gratefully. In truth, Broughton had proved an invaluable source of comfort over the past twenty-four hours. What exactly I faced, I did not know, except that at some point I would be formally made a knight. Normally the ritual can be carried out fairly quickly, but Richard delighted in chivalry and, accordingly, I had been instructed to participate in the entire ritual: the nightly vigil in the cathedral, the ceremonial bathing and the priest hearing my confession. These things I had all duly carried out, but now, as I stood outside the walls of Carlisle in my symbolic white tunic and red robe, I wondered nervously what was to come next.

Three torches suddenly illuminated the battlements, and I heard a creaking sound as the massive gates swung open. Broughton nudged me in the right direction.

‘Come on,' he said, ‘and remember to just keep moving forward towards the castle.'

I stepped out into the city and was momentarily dazzled by a mass of torches. I stopped and looked down the length of English Street. On either side of the road, dismounted troops stood with lances lowered, blocking my passage.

‘Move!' hissed Broughton.

Trusting him, I advanced through the lances in front of me, which were raised to the upright position, their silver points glinting as they rippled upwards. I glanced at the soldiers as I moved between them; there were no smiles, nor did any man call out. In stern silence, the men of the Carlisle horse made their farewells with this final spear salute. Followed by Broughton, I passed slowly between them and was nearing the cathedral when the drum started. In the silence, its noise was magnified and its sound, though commonplace, added to the unreality of the occasion. The measured beat seemed to urge me on to where Moresby stood with his picked band of archers ready to escort me into the castle.

The courtyard was a sea of light, the fiery brands illuminating the burnished armour of the soldiers. Propelled on by the relentless booming of the drum, I walked slowly through the massed ranks of infantry towards a raised platform where I guessed Richard would be. There was total silence as I reached the dais and solemnly climbed up the steps. Then, without realising, I found myself on my knees in front of him. A moment later, I felt the top of his sword touch first one shoulder then the other.

‘Arise, Sir Francis,' Richard of Gloucester ordered, ‘and receive the tokens of your knighthood.'

He gestured to Broughton and Moresby, who now mounted the dais to proffer me my spurs, but he raised his hand when Dick Middleton reached to where my sword lay.

‘I will attend to that,' he said quietly.

Removing his gauntlets, he girded my sword on. I turned to thank him, but at that moment, the trumpeters who Moresby had placed on the battlements all blew together and their clangour drowned out my words.

I waited for them to finish, but even as the last note died away, the cheering in the courtyard started. I believed that it would soon die away and stared at the ground in embarrassment, but instead the noise seemed to swell, and I realised in horror that the troops who had been on duty on the streets outside had now entered the courtyard.

Richard of Gloucester gently pushed me forward to face the men.

‘You should acknowledge your men's acclaim,' he said quietly.

‘It's not fitting with you present…'

‘Do it, Francis!' he commanded firmly.

Even as I made the final salute to my – no, his – men, my heart went out to the little man who stood deferentially behind me. He had planned the whole ceremony. He would have known that the focus of the whole evening would have been on me, but he was prepared to walk in my shadow, so that I could have this moment of glory.

I turned to him.

‘How can I thank you for all this?'

He grinned up at me.

‘Promise me that you will return when I call for you.'

‘But I would have done that anyway, without all this!' I protested.

His eyes twinkled.

‘I know that, and I am grateful for your loyalty. But I owe you this evening not only for past services, but also for a more recent one.'

‘It's just guesswork on my wife's part,' Richard continued, ‘but if you have sacrificed something for me, should I not sacrifice something for you?'

He clapped me on the shoulder with a laugh.

‘No, don't answer me; just come back when I need you.'

I gazed blankly across the teeming mass of cheering soldiers in the courtyard for a while. I was to go away from Richard, yet I had never felt so close to him than at this very moment.

PART 2 :

1482 – 1485

“Ratcliffe, Lovell and Catesby the Devil
Ruleth all England under Anne Neville”

C
HAPTER
11

A
cross the river the Scottish patrol threaded their horses through the snow-covered trees. They moved slowly with spears aloft until they reached the shore. But even as the riders dismounted to water their beasts, their leader spurred his horse into the shallows and arrogantly inspected our camp.

I ignored his gaze and let my own eyes climb the steep slope behind the horsemen. High above them sentinels manned the high walls of Berwick
¹³
and even as I watched, a strong force of men-at-arms began to descend the hillside. I guessed that the Scots would be adopting forward positions so as to give additional notice of a surprise attack by our men.

Sourly I wondered why the Scots believed that they had to be so vigilant. After all, by now their spies in our camp would have reported that morale in the English camp was so low that our force was not even the slightest threat to their great fortress.

Angrily I clenched my fists. Morale was so bad by now that we had been obliged to place additional sentries round the camp. Officially it was explained that this was a precautionary measure against a surprise counterattack. In reality all our men knew that the sentries were there to stop them deserting.

In my heart of hearts I could not blame our would-be deserters, for our campaign at Berwick was proving disastrous for them. It was not just the lack of rations that was reducing our men to skeletons, nor was it the extreme cold which caused so many of them to lose fingers and toes
¹⁴
, rather it was the defeats.

For twice now the Scots had beaten us and badly. Both of our frontal assaults had been bloodily repulsed and with such loss of life that no one in the army had the slightest confidence that a third attack would fare any better. Nor indeed that we could ever capture Berwick.

But we had to, I thought grimly. If we could not capture Berwick, then Richard of Gloucester would be exposed to complete and devastating humiliation. He would be ridiculed by his enemies the Woodvilles and reviled by the men of the North.

And that had worried Ratcliffe the most.

He had found Nan and I at Minster Lovell, my boyhood home, and from the moment that he politely asked to see round it I knew his business to be serious.

For Ratcliffe was only polite when he needed something desperately.

But for all his impatience, he had made an effort as I proudly showed him where generations of Lovells had lived and loved. He admired the siting of the old house by the river and liked my idea to build a tower in the south-west of the quadrant.

But when we came to the circular dovecot and he heard the cooing, he dropped his feigned interest.

‘Doves are symbols of peace,' he had snarled. ‘We need war.'

I had given up at that point and led him back through the crowded courtyard into the solar. Once the door had closed behind us I had asked what he wanted.

Swiftly Ratcliffe had summarised all that had happened while I had been abroad. Insofar as the North was concerned, it appeared that Richard and Anne Neville had used the time well to further strengthen their position as undisputed rulers of that region.