Philippa Gregory - The Red Queen

Jasper shakes his head. “That’s only the half of it. If everyone knows the Stanleys are for you, then everyone knows that we are the winning side,” he says. “If they meet you in darkness, or here, half hidden in a bloody wheatfield, then they are not declared for you. They could still turn out for Richard, and everyone knows that. Damnation. Damnation. I hoped your mother had secured her husband for us, but if his son is held by Richard, he could spend the whole battle sitting on the side, doing nothing for us, and join Richard for a final charge. Damnation.”

Henry takes his uncle’s arm and marches him away from the listening men. “What shall we do? We have to go on.”

“Yes, we can’t retreat now without even having met Richard, but we are in a worse state than I had hoped, my boy.”

“Should we march on London?”

“No, they will be right about London being all for Richard, and now we will have them hot on our heels, not knowing if they are friends or enemies, and Richard close behind them. For all we know, they are not our vanguard but his forerunners. And now we have told them that we are headed for London. Damnation.”

“So what?” Henry presses. His face is pale, his young face grooved with lines of worry.

“We turn north and go to meet them; we do our best to persuade them that we can win. We do our best to get their promise. And then we will go onwards, north, and choose the best battleground, for Richard in Nottingham will know where we are by tomorrow, know our numbers and our disposition. I don’t doubt that Stanley will deliver all that information to Richard by midnight tonight.”

“We agree to meet the Stanleys in secrecy? What if it’s a trap? What if they will serve Richard by handing me over to him?”

“We have to try. We do whatever will bring them to our side,” Jasper says. “I don’t think we can beat Richard without them. I am sorry for this, my boy.”

“Your Grace,” Henry reminds him with the ghost of a smile.

Jasper puts his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Your Grace, Your Grace, and England never had a braver king.”

From Lady Margaret Stanley

Husband, I greet you well.

Ned Parton tells me he can find you, and that he knows where you are. In that case, he knows more than your wife or your pledged ally, my son.

Husband, with all my heart, I beg you to remember that you could be the stepfather of the King of England within the week. Richard may have made you Constable of England, but that will be nothing to the future we might have. We will be the royal family and our grandson will be king. Nothing can be greater than this-it must be worth every risk.

I hear that Lord Strange, your son, is with Richard, and held by him, as warranty for your loyalty. Husband, for all our sakes, order him to escape, so that you can be free to support the true king, and we can find our way to our destiny as the rulers of England.

And know this, that the Earl of Northumberland has not called out the north for Richard; he will serve my son. The nobles of England are coming out for my son. Will you not be the foremost?

I beg you to serve your own best interests.

Your wife,

Lady Margaret Stanley

Henry’s march brings him to Lichfield, where Lord Stanley’s army have occupied the town. He hopes that his stepfather will open the gates to him and bring out his own army to join the march, but this doesn’t happen. As soon as Stanley’s scouts bring him news that Henry Tudor’s army is on the road to the town, he simply withdraws and advises the townspeople to open their gates to avoid bloodshed. Richard in Nottingham, like Henry at the town gates, cannot be certain whether this is a gesture of rebellion or loyalty. Lord Stanley’s army marches away and is now quartered at Atherstone, his brother a little to the north. They look like armies choosing a battleground. Lord Stanley sends daily messages to Richard, telling him where the Tudor army is headed, their numbers, their discipline. He does not come himself, as he should do, but he appears loyal.

Richard orders his army out of Nottingham Castle and onto the road south. He orders square battle-as his brother Edward would have ordered, with men in square ranks and the cavalry riding up and down the line, on guard. The king himself and his household guards ride at the front: everyone can see the royal standard ahead of them; everyone knows that Richard is determined to crush this threat to his peace once and for all. This will be the last rebellion of his reign, the end of the long wars of the cousins.

Before they leave Nottingham, Catesby delays the king with a question. “The Stanley boy?”

“He can come with us. Under guard.”

“Should we not kill him now?”

Richard shakes his head. “I can’t make an enemy of Stanley on the very eve of battle. If we kill his son, we guarantee he goes to Tudor for his revenge. Bring Lord Strange with us, in my retinue, and if Stanley moves against us, we will behead him on the spot.”

The royal army and the Tudor army are not the only forces marching to meet. The two Stanley armies are positioned and waiting; the Earl of Northumberland is bringing a force of cavalry behind Richard, promised faithfully both to his service and to Margaret Stanley. The greatest single army to take the field is undoubtedly the king’s. But the Stanleys’ and Northumberland’s forces would tip the balance.

Jasper, his big warhorse jogging in a trot beside his nephew’s charger, leans over and clasps his gauntleted hand on the reins. “Courage, my boy.”

Henry flashes him a tight, small smile.

“Let them get ahead.” Jasper nods to their own slowly advancing army. “Let them get out of sight and then double back. I’ll get them settled for the night and then come out for you. Do what you can with the Stanleys. I won’t show myself unless you get into trouble.”

“You don’t think they’d kill me?” Henry asks, as if it is a question of tactics.

Jasper sighs. “I don’t think so. I think they are more likely to tell you their terms. They must think you have a good chance; they wouldn’t even be meeting us if they were not intending to back you. I don’t like you meeting them alone, but with his son as hostage, Stanley has to be careful. You have your knife in your boot?”

“Of course.”

“And I won’t be far behind you. Godspeed, Your Grace. I’ll be just behind you. I’ll have you in earshot for most of the time.”

“God help us all,” Henry says bleakly. He checks the road ahead to see that the stragglers of his army have turned a corner and he is out of sight, then turns his own horse and rides away to meet the Stanley servant, waiting cloaked on his own horse, in the shadow of the hedgerow.

They ride in silence, Henry scanning the darkening landscape to be sure of finding his way back to his army. The servant gestures to a little roadside inn, the skeletal holly bush strapped over the door as a sign that it is open for poor business, and Henry dismounts. The servant takes his horse to the back of the building, and Henry ducks his head, takes a deep breath, and pushes open the door.

He blinks. The room is filled with smoke from the dirty rushlights and the greenwood fire, but he can make out Sir William and three other men. He can see no one else: there is no way of knowing whether to expect an ambush or a welcome. With a Breton shrug, Henry Tudor steps into the darkened room.