Brian Wainwright - The Adventures of Alianore Audley

At last word arrived of Tudor’s landing. It was in a far corner of Wales, on the shores of Milford Haven. Our agents in France had obviously not realised that there was more than one Milford!

We were not unduly alarmed. To reach London Tudor was going to have to march through the territories controlled by the Vaughans and their kinsman, William Herbert, Earl of Huntingdon, who was wedded to Richard’s bastard daughter, Katherine. We knew that he would struggle to get through that little barrier.

But then reports began to arrive that Tudor was moving north, along the coast. We could not make out where he was going, although a captured letter, directed to Stanley and pleading abjectly for assistance, made most amusing reading. Instead of keeping it in the Intelligence Office, Richard had it passed around the top table at supper time so we could all have a good laugh.

Lord Stanley had sent word that he was ill, confined to his bed at Lathom with the Sweating Sickness. This disease is often fatal, but I had the peculiar feeling that Stanley would make a full recovery when the time was ripe. Richard obviously had the same feeling, because he had Stanley’s eldest son, George, Lord Strange, with us at Nottingham, and was not at all inclined to let him go home to Lancashire.

Strange gave you the distinct impression that he was the nervous sort. (He was not Margaret Beaufort’s son, by the way, but the product of Stanley’s first marriage, which was to one of the Kingmaker’s many sisters.) You only had to drop your eating knife on the tiles and he would jump three feet.

I’d have bet my last set of garters that Strange would try to escape, and doubled up on the chance that he’d make a cock of it. I’d have won on both counts, because the rope of sheets that he used broke in half, and he fell about twenty feet onto solid rock, shattering his ankle. He was damned lucky not to break his fool neck.

Richard was too old-fashioned to allow ladies in the torture-chamber. I can’t vouch for the details of what happened next, but I was given sight of the transcript, and it’s fair to say that Strange didn’t need much in the way of seed before he began to sing.

He admitted that he, with his uncle, Sir William, and his cousin Sir John Savage, had agreed to go over to Tudor. Also involved was Sir Gilbert Talbot, the High Sheriff of Shropshire, uncle to the young Earl of Shrewsbury. On the other hand, he claimed that his father was still loyal to Richard.

‘What do you make of it?’ the King asked me, twisting his rings.

‘It stinks to high heaven,’ I said, putting the paper aside, ‘but it also makes a degree of sense. The Stanley family has always tried to keep a foot in both camps. It’s exactly what they did at Blore Heath. At Tewkesbury too. Sir William was there with you, but where was his brother? Carefully absent. Sir William may fight you, but my guess is that Stanley himself will just stand off, and pretend that he was delayed on the road.’

‘The prospect of his son being strung up from the nearest tree may just change his mind,’ Richard snapped. ‘George Strange is guilty of treason, by his own admission, and I’ll execute him if his father shows the least sign of disobedience. It seems to be the only language that these people understand.’

‘I’d like to pay a call on Sir William, if you’ll allow it,’ I replied. ‘I’ve an idea that I’d like to try, one that might just come off.’

‘I’m not sending you into his camp, Alianore. It’s too dangerous. I’ll settle for proclaiming him a traitor, and Savage and Talbot with him. That’ll give their friends cause to have second thoughts.’

‘By your leave, Sire,’ I persisted, ‘I do think it’s worth the risk. If we can knock Sir William out of the game, it’ll mean that you only have the Tudor himself to fight, and that should be something of a doddle for you.’

‘What do you say, Roger?’ the King asked.

My husband shrugged. ‘I doubt whether William Stanley, for all his faults, is the sort who would harm a lady. If Alianore has a plan that will keep him out of the battle, then I suggest you let her go for it. The alternative is to put her under lock and key for the duration.’

Richard looked grim. ‘Very well,’ he agreed, ‘but see to it that you take no undue risks.’

I took a small escort with me, which included Guy as well as one of the King’s heralds. This chap went by the name of Blanc Sanglier, or Blanc for short, and was a bit of a pain, really. He insisted on stopping at every village cross to blow his trumpet and read out the proclamation that William Stanley and the rest were traitors. One can do without such delays when one is on a secret mission.

William Stanley took some tracking down, but we found him at last, camped just to the north of Stafford. I reckoned he had a good three thousand men with him, all wearing his livery of the Stag. From intelligence reports we knew that Tudor had passed through Shrewsbury, and lay only a few miles away, ready to join with the Stanley forces if that was what they intended.

The Herald blew his damned trumpet again, and began to unroll his scroll.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ I cried, ‘not here! Are you trying to get us all killed?’

‘I enjoy a herald’s immunity,’ he answered, rather snootily.

‘You may do, you overdressed clown,’ snarled Guy, ‘but the rest of us don’t.’

‘Moreover,’ I added, ‘if I were you, I’d not rely on William Stanley to stick to the finer points of the Knightly Code. He might just find it amusing to top you.’

I was shown into Will Stanley’s tent. He had a pot of ale in his hand, and was just in the middle of swilling it down. He was not much younger than his brother, but a good deal fleshier. A man who enjoyed his victuals, I judged.

‘What’s your business here, my Lady Beauchamp?’ he boomed. ‘Come to spy on us, have you?’

‘I’m an envoy from the King,’ I explained, handing him my Commission, ‘here to discuss terms.’

‘Terms? What terms?’

‘The terms for your co-operation. Generous terms.’

He roared with laughter. ‘From Gloucester? Do you think me mad? I’ve heard that he’s proclaimed me traitor, and that’s good enough for me.’

‘There may have been some misunderstanding,’ I said. ‘George Stanley, your nephew, may well have given the wrong impression about your intentions.’

‘Ah!’ he cried, ‘so Strange betrayed me, did he?’

‘Under torture,’ I explained. ‘Even brave men say whatever is required when they are tortured. Your nephew is inexperienced. I’m sure that allowances will be made, if you render some small show of loyalty.’

He grunted, unimpressed.

‘As matters stand,’ I said, sitting down on the stool opposite him, ‘if Tudor does the business you will be well sorted. After all, by proclaiming you traitor, Richard has given the impression that you’ve declared openly for his enemies, even though you haven’t. Tudor will be obliged to reward you for that, even if you don’t actually go so far as to fight for him.’

He sat there, staring at me, without saying a word. I could tell I’d got him interested.

‘But what if Richard wins?’ I asked. ‘It’s likely he will, you know. He’ll command the larger army, and the better prepared. We’ve good intelligence about the sort of punters that Tudor’s towing in his wake. The sweepings of French jails, mercenaries, and half-armed Welshmen. There’s hardly an Englishman of note among them. If Richard comes out on top, my friend, you’re in deep crap. A man who had better not allow himself to be taken alive.’

He still sat there unblinking. He began to turn the point of his knife in the table, as if he was trying to sink a hole for an inkwell or something. I’d have had something to say to Roger if he’d treated our furniture like that, I can tell you.