The King's Dogge (44 page)

‘I believe that the king has privately decided against marrying his niece,' a smiling Ratcliffe advised me a few days later. ‘Poor Catesby is quite chastened, it would appear!'

He glanced at me inquisitively.

‘His decision appears to have coincided with your discussion with him?'

‘He had already made up his mind. He simply told me that there would be no marriage.'

He looked at me with disbelief but wisely kept silent. The Woodvilles weren't able to hold their tongues though. Informed of the king's decision and devoid of Catesby's support, they petitioned a number of nobles to intercede on behalf of the Princess Elizabeth but to no avail. Eventually, to suppress the whole business, at my suggestion, the king publicly denied that he had ever intended to marry his niece.

On my advice, Richard made Ratcliffe his chief advisor with a subdued Catesby supporting him and myself watching the both of them. Despite my dislike of Catesby's conspicuous lack of morality, he had been cut down to size and had unparalleled intellect. Equally Ratcliffe's undoubted skills in propaganda should not be wasted.

I tried to be with Richard as often as I could; while neither of us ever talked of that fateful night, I knew that what I had said had shocked him and, in a curious way, I felt both guilty and responsible for him. Moreover, the death of Anne Neville left him morbidly dejected. I believe he saw his own mortality in hers and increasingly turned to God for consolation. I think it helped him to have someone to listen to him as he talked of his faith and I heard him out as he spoke of his plan to come to grace.

As far as I could see, his confession was total. He made no attempt to conceal anything; he even blamed himself for his brother Clarence's death.

‘But you can't be responsible for that!' I protested. ‘It had nothing to do with you.'

‘The sins of omission are as great as those we commit,' he corrected me gently. ‘I could have saved him from being killed; Edward would have listened to me.'

‘You're being too hard on yourself.'

He smiled at me with childlike innocence.

‘Perhaps, but at least I can make restitution to his son. I've decided that Clarence's boy, the young Earl of Warwick, should be my heir.'

I thought for a moment; Clarence had married the older daughter of my first master, the Earl of Warwick, while Richard had married the younger. This made Clarence's son the grandson of the old Earl of Warwick. The thought pleased me and I smiled. Richard noticed it and shrugged.

‘To be honest, the boy has a better right to the crown than I do,' he said awkwardly, ‘so it seems only fair that he should at least reign after me.'

He glanced at me.

‘Will you do something for me, Francis?'

‘Of course.'

‘Swear that you will make sure that Clarence's son reigns after me in case… well, that is…'

His morbidity had to be discouraged.

‘You'll rule for a long time yet, Richard. But if it makes you feel better, of course I'll swear to it.'

He smiled at me shyly and tugged at his England ring, which he had worn since his coronation. A moment later he passed it to me and I looked in awe at the lions engraved upon it. I made to pass it back, but he shook his head.

‘Keep it to remind you of your promise.' He looked at my hands. ‘You'll probably need to wear it on a chain.'

He laughed.

I grinned at him and we relapsed into companionable silence with the troubles of the past behind us. We were not to feel secure in the present though; all the while rumours of Henry Tudor's invasion were growing, and I had no doubt that soon we would be at war, a war that would decide for once and for all whether Richard had a right to the throne. I tightened my mouth as I looked at the small figure beside me. One way or another, I vowed I would protect him by defeating Tudor.

C
HAPTER
19

‘
I
f you expect me to defend Southampton against Henry Tudor, I'll need more cannon.' The broad northern tones of John Hoton cut through my thoughts. ‘There's not enough time to patch up the land walls or to make repairs to the castle, but give me more cannon and I can hold Tudor at bay.'

I smiled at the enthusiasm of the newly appointed Constable of Southampton Castle but made no reply. Below us the babble and bustle on Westgate Quay evidenced the growing prosperity of the port, but neither the sounds nor the sights on the dockside afforded me pleasure. It was at the horizon that I gazed; for the fifth day running there was no sight of a fleet.

Where in hell's name was Tudor? It was already approaching mid-August, so he was long overdue. Catesby's spies had been specific. They knew Tudor's numbers, the likely date of landing and even the location near Southampton. According to them, Tudor should have been here by now.

There was no danger that he could have come ashore secretly, I reassured myself. We had paid agents a fortune to watch all the hidden bays and concealed coves along this part of the coast. Even if our agents had played us false, there would have been others to tell us of the landing of Tudor's French troops and the 500 renegade English serving under him. Dear God, for a bounty the size we were offering, a man would have betrayed his own father. But if Tudor was not here, where was he?

The empty horizon was mocking me, so I indicated that we should return to the castle. Followed by our escort, John Hoton and I descended from our position by the customs house and started to walk back up English Street. I ignored the sullen faces and hostile stares of the townsfolk as our escort elbowed them from our path. I was used to their enmity by now – too many of them had sympathised with the traitor Buckingham and, given the opportunity, would back Tudor now. Well, they were not going to get the chance.

As we passed the Church of Holy Rood, I wondered whether Catesby's forecast of Tudor's landing place was correct. Ratcliffe had doubted it. He had pointed out that Tudor would be more likely to land in Wales where, despite his long absence, his Welsh blood would attract support. Personally I doubted this, but conceded the possibility.

So we had taken precautions in Wales, but it was in the South of England, where support for Richard was weakest, that we had put in the greatest effort. I had created three military zones: John, Lord Scrope my neighbour and fellow soldier from Yorkshire held the South-West region; another Yorkshire man, Brackenbury, together with the loyal Duke of Norfolk held London and the South-East; while I took personal charge of the central zone. Ahead of us, the imposing castle gatehouse loomed and our escort fell back to guard the rear as Hoton and I entered. We halted in the courtyard and he glanced at me.

‘Do you want to continue your inspection of the castle?' he asked.

I shook my head.

‘I've come to the conclusion that, in Tudor's place, I would not bother trying to capture Southampton. It would slow him down and he needs to press on inland and muster his supporters in England.'

‘So how will you stop him?' Hoton wanted to know.

I explained the strategy that I had designed for all three military zones.

‘Firstly, we work on the assumption that Tudor's fleet is not intercepted and destroyed by our own ships, which have been patrolling the Channel since April, and that his army manages to land unopposed. So, as soon as we hear of a landing, we use the fast courier system to notify the king in Nottingham. He will immediately muster the main army.'

There was the sound of a disturbance from the gatehouse, but I paid it no heed. The guards there could deal with the mutinous townsfolk.

‘Now while the main army is concentrating in the centre of England, we slow Tudor down in the South. We attack their foraging parties and prevent sympathisers from joining them. Then we deny Tudor food and shelter.'

‘How?'

‘All livestock in their path are slaughtered; all habitations are torched. The enemy will find dead sheep polluting rivers and streams.'

I broke off as a mud-splattered rider forced his way through the fracas at the gatehouse and spurred his horse towards us. Even as he slid off his sweating horse, the messenger's hand was inside his tunic.

‘From Master Catesby, my lord,' he panted.

I seized the scroll and reeled in shock. How in hell's name could it have happened?

‘Get your men ready!' I ordered Hoton. ‘Tudor's in Wales and is approaching Shrewsbury.'

He looked at me, mouth agape.

‘But how? You said that all precautions had been…'

There was no time for this. I tossed a coin to the messenger.

‘Refresh yourself quickly and return to Master Catesby. Tell him I need to know the numbers and composition of Tudor's army. I also want his estimate as to their direction and state of morale. Now repeat what I have said.'

He did so immediately and I was impressed by his efficiency. Clearly Catesby had used one of his best people.

The messenger eyed me shrewdly.

‘You'll be moving north, my lord. Where should Master Catesby send this information?'

I thought briefly. The recipient would have to be a man that I trusted completely at a point between here and Nottingham.

‘Tell him to send it to the Abbot of Our Lady in Abingdon,' I told him. ‘His abbey is near Oxford.'

Despite the need for haste, our march to Nottingham was no mad scramble; to have hurried too much would have exhausted the men and lamed the horses. I needed time to think too. I let John Hoton dictate the pace of our ride north and, as I knew him to be prudent, unquestioningly obeyed his measured orders to ride, walk or rest the horses. I spent the time pondering what lay ahead. The hardest part was that, until I received Catesby's second message, I had no hard facts. All I knew was that Tudor had inexplicably breached our defences in Wales. What would he do when he got to Shrewsbury?

He had two choices. Assuming he had attracted considerable support in Wales, he could head straight down Watling Street towards London. I chewed my lip nervously. Richard's army would not be fully mustered, but he would be unable to ignore the threat to his capital. In this scenario, we would be forced to fight against a rebel army whose numbers would undoubtedly exceed our own. But Tudor had another choice, which would favour us. If he had not got the support he needed by the time he reached Shrewsbury, he would not dare to try for London. He would probably head to the North-West and try to enlist the support of his stepfather, Lord Stanley. But he would get an unpleasant surprise because…

‘Halt!'

Hoton's sharp command caused me to jerk hard at my reins and, looking up, I followed the direction of his pointed finger. Ahead of us in the distance, a large party of horsemen were heading north.

He wheeled round.

‘I can't make out their banners, my lord. Can you?'

‘No.'

He narrowed his eyes.

‘We'll treat them as hostile then and, since they easily outnumber us, we'll try to avoid them.' He raised his voice. ‘Dismount and rest!'

It would delay us, but it was the safest choice. I slid off my horse wearily. All over England, I reflected, men would be stirring and moving purposefully towards the centre of England, but to fight for whom? I recalled a discussion I had had with Broughton uneasily.