The King's Dogge (4 page)

‘At this point,' the Marquis continued, ‘King Edward will have you, my Lord of Oxford, attacking him from the side, while I push forward from the centre. We will advance all our reserves and the Yorkists will be crushed.'

There was silence round the table as my Lords of Exeter and Oxford absorbed the plan and glanced at each other. I could sense their unease – plainly the battle plan looked to be a good one, but could they really trust their former enemies not to double cross them?

The Duke of Exeter looked at my Lord of Warwick.

‘Ten years ago you and I fought against each other at Towton, my lord,' he said softly. ‘How do I know that I can trust you and your brother today?'

The Earl of Warwick flushed.

‘I have sworn an oath to put King Henry back on his rightful throne.'

The duke nodded thoughtfully.

‘Then God help you if you break it,' he said grimly. ‘Now, my lords, despite our respective loyalties in the past, we find ourselves in a situation where not only do we have to trust each other, but additionally we must display that faith to our men. As such, I suggest that we and our captains should all fight on foot, leaving our horses in the camp. That will demonstrate to our men that we are all resolved to fight and die next to each other.'

Montague and Warwick stared back at him. It was common practice for knights to ride into battle and fight on foot, but their horses were usually kept close at hand to facilitate flight, if defeat seemed likely. While the duke's suggestion would undoubtedly make a positive impact on our troops, unless our side secured victory it would be unlikely that any of our leaders would be able to return to camp. It was an effective death sentence for them. My Lord Montague looked at his brother who nodded as if the matter was of no importance. The Marquis Montague's face hardened.

‘We agree,' he said grimly.

By the next morning, I was profoundly frightened. The little sleep I had managed had been frequently interrupted by the sounds of Warwick's cannons booming away. Tiredness added to my fears, and I fumbled badly as, by the light of flickering candles, I helped my lord on with his armour.

He must have realised how I felt, as he gave me countless tasks to keep my mind busy. I was dispatched to see whether the Duke of Exeter's men had moved into their appointed positions. Then I had to check that Oxford's force was placed behind the thick hedge. I blundered around in the darkness and mist getting helplessly lost but eventually returned to camp to find men milling about aimlessly. The confusion did not worry me; my lord had warned me about this when he had talked to me last night.

‘King Edward's men are close at hand, Francis. Now, given that they will suspect that we outnumber them, what tactics do you think they will employ?'

I did not know. He shook his head in mock reproof and smiled at me.

‘And after all my teaching too! What King Edward will do is to use the element of surprise; he'll attack before daybreak and try to catch us unaware. Accordingly, I have given instructions that all troops are to be up and in position long before the sun rises so Edward's plan won't work. But never forget to use the element of surprise, Francis.'

I shook my head in admiration at my lord's kindness as I reentered the teeming camp. On the eve of a major battle, not only had he found time to add to my learning, but he had the forethought to explain what I would see. It was down to him that I understood that what seemed like confusion was, in reality, men mustering under their captains by the light of spluttering torches prior to advancing to their battle stations.

I found my lord and followed him and his men through the dark woods until we came to the place where he had ordered marker stakes to be placed in the ground. There were frequent cries of ‘close up' and gradually the mass of soldiers were driven into some form of order. Around my lord and myself, I glimpsed the reassuringly large shapes of his personal bodyguards. They were armed with halberds – eight-foot spears with an axe blade on one side and a vicious spike on the other. Behind us a dozen lightly armoured horsemen, all bearing Montague's griffin emblem, waited to carry his instructions.

There was the sound of shouts ahead of us and I heard the answering roar of insults from our men. A moment later, some unseen force threw us back a few paces and, ahead of us, I heard the clashing of weapons. For a few moments, we were carried forward and back. One of the tall bodyguards caught my eye.

‘Surprised us in the mist!' he shouted. ‘Our archers would not have got many shots.'

I was about to question him, but my lord held out a metalled gauntlet, and I passed him the leather water flask. He grunted and glanced to the right to search for Oxford's troops.

The pushing and shoving continued, but it was impossible to make out what was happening. I could see little, nor could I work out whether we were advancing or retreating. I tried to fix our position by pinpointing a tall tree on my right, but when I looked again later somehow the tree had got behind me. Even more confusing was the fact that while we were constantly moving there was no sign of the enemy. Men passed us on either side but, apart from the clanging ahead, there was little sign of a battle.

The sudden whirr of an arrow made me slam my visor down and my sense of disorientation instantly worsened, my vision being restricted to the little I could see through its narrow slits. I stumbled on something large beneath me and would have fallen had a halberdier not grabbed me. Flinging my visor up, I swallowed uneasily. The ground beneath us was covered in bodies. My lord signalled to me and I moved over to where he stood, talking anxiously with one of his captains. Without being asked, I handed him the water flask. The captain ignored me.

‘What's Exeter doing?' he demanded.

‘Holding his own, but only with the help of all our reserves,' the Marquis Montague replied bitterly.

The captain looked startled.

‘He shouldn't have needed them. We'll want them here presently.'

My lord made no reply, but looked out for Oxford's men. The captain followed his gaze.

‘Lancastrians – untrustworthy bastards,' he muttered as he moved away.

My lord looked worried and, because I knew him, I could sense his thoughts. If the situation on the army's left wing was unexpectedly disappointing, what was happening on the right wing was a total mystery. Oxford's division appeared to have disappeared into thin air and none of the messengers, who Montague had sent, had returned.

There was a lull in the fighting and we stopped moving. I realised later that men in armour cannot fight indefinitely, and there are times when the battle almost stops while men regain their strength. It was now that my lord commanded me to take the last two mounted messengers to find Oxford.

‘Tell him to break through Hastings immediately!' he ordered.

We rode behind the army to the hedge where Oxford's men had been stationed and found it completely flattened. There was no sign of Oxford or his men, only a number of bodies on the ground.

I rode forward anxiously, hardening my heart to the sound of the feeble moans of wounded men. There were large numbers of weapons strewn randomly; I guessed that they had been thrown away in flight.

‘No further, master,' the older messenger called out. ‘There may be enemy troops hiding.'

The mist had cleared completely now, but no matter how hard I looked I could not see Oxford's men.

‘We'll go on!' I ordered.

The older man glanced at me scornfully.

‘You'll never find them. They will be long gone.'

‘What do you mean?'

He gave me a pitying look.

‘Oxford's attacked and the Yorkists have fled. Oxford has chased after them.' He dismounted abruptly and started running his fingers through one of the dead soldier's clothing.

‘Stop that!' I ordered.

He looked at me defiantly and moved on to another body. His colleague was doing the same. I drew my sword, but he picked up a mace and his comrade a fallen sword. For a few seconds, we all just stood there stiffly eyeing each other.

‘It's the right of soldiers to loot,' the younger messenger said truculently. ‘Always has been and always will be.'

‘Course it is,' agreed his friend. ‘You can't stop us, master; Oxford's men will be doing exactly the same thing.'

He hefted his mace.

‘But if you do want to stop us master, you just try.' His companion came to stand next to him. He waved his hand back in the direction from which we had come. ‘Or you can just ride back and forget about us.'

The two of them watched me closely. I cursed them and rode away. The important thing was to return to my lord and tell him that, while Oxford had completely routed the Yorkist left wing, he and his men had totally disobeyed instructions. There would be no flank attack on the Yorkist centre.

It had all gone horribly wrong, I reflected, as I made my way back. Evidently the prospect of plunder and revenge had proved too much for the Lancastrian Oxford and his men. There was little chance of him reforming his troops – most would just sneak away with what they had stolen and, even if they did return, given that most of them were foot soldiers, it would probably take too long. Worse still, by giving Oxford the extra men, Marquis Montague had obviated our side's numerical advantage and already our reserves were engaged in propping up Exeter's flank.

I skirted the rear of our army anxiously until I found my lord and told him the news. He cursed Oxford as an impetuous fool, but then a messenger arrived from Exeter; his men were suffering badly, and he needed reinforcements urgently. My lord gestured to a number of his immediate companions and his halberdier bodyguard to return with the messenger, and looked longingly to his right, doubtless hoping that Oxford's troops would return to save the day.

The noise from the front was louder now and I could actually make out the sun banners of the enemy. There was a sudden roar from ahead of us and we were jolted backwards. My lord frowned.

‘I believe that King Edward has thrown in his reserves.'

‘Hold hard!' he yelled and snapped his visor down, but we were all pushed back again. In front of us the clash of weapons grew louder and the ground beneath us more muddy and treacherous. Another squire seized my arm.

‘Tell my lord that enemy horsemen threatened our right flank,' he gasped. ‘They have been repelled by arrow fire, but they might attack again.'

I turned to my lord but his gaze was focused to our left flank. He summoned his captain again grimly.

‘Exeter's force is crumbling,' he said briefly. ‘Prepare to strengthen our left flank.'

The captain glanced at Exeter's position.

‘Their line is buckling,' he confirmed, ‘and already a few of his men are starting to slip away.' He looked at my lord. ‘Gloucester will be upon us soon, my lord. We'll be squeezed between him and King Edward's reinforcements.'

I felt an icy chill. It was not so much what they said that panicked me, but the calm way in which it was said. Two experienced soldiers had evaluated the situation extremely quickly and had come to the same inevitable conclusion. In a short while we would be totally overwhelmed.

Others spotted the increasing desertions from Exeter's division and there were cries of ‘treason' and a general edging backwards. The Marquis stood tall so he could be seen by those around him and gestured to advance. Temporarily reassured, men moved forward. My lord beckoned to me.

‘Francis!' he said urgently. ‘Find my brother. Tell him the day is lost. Tell him to flee quickly. I will hold the ground here as long as I can.' He smiled at me briefly and then, snapping his visor down, turned back to the battle.

A squire may only leave his lord during battle at his express order. I pushed my way to the rear with eyes streaming. It was obvious that the Marquis Montague's instruction was not only designed to save the life of his brother but mine too. It was typical of the man that when he could have sent anyone with the message, his first thought had been to preserve the life of his own squire. Equally characteristic of the man was his decision to mount a rearguard action. For while he stood firm, Gloucester's victorious troops would not pursue Exeter's fleeing men, but would attack him. He was, I realised then, the bravest and most generous man I had ever known.

Behind the lines, it was pandemonium. Men raced frantically in all directions, jostling one another and striking out when another got in their way. I looked round wildly for the Earl of Warwick, but all I could see were Exeter's men running away. A knight on his armoured horse spurred his way into them frantically, using the flat of his sword to make them turn and face the enemy, but he was quickly pulled off his mount and the mob raced on.

Already I was being overtaken by a number of Montague's own archers. They dashed past me, flinging away bows and swords, their ragged breath and wild-eyed expressions evidence of their terror. Sensing this, my own fearfulness grew ever greater and I lumbered desperately after them.