Julian Rathbone - Kings of Albion

He took a deep breath. His eyes narrowed. 'Know ye all,' he announced, in a deep, resonant voice, ‘I, as grandnephew of the usurped King Richard the Second and great-grandson of Edward the Third, do challenge and claim the realm of Ingerlond. I propose to be crowned on All Hallows Day coming…'

'When?' I whispered to Ali.

'All Saints' Day, first of November, three weeks' time…'

He might have said more but at that moment a man in gold robes and a strange jewelled hat divided in two as if cloven with an axe, pushed up to York. This turned out to be his brother-in-law Thomas Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury.

'Don't you think, Richard, since we already have a king, and we have all, yourself included, made holy vows of allegiance to him, we should have a word with him first before we go through with this? See what he thinks about it?'

This drew a rustle of assent from Parliament.

'I know of no one in the realm who would not come more fitly to me than I to him,' said York. Hut he looked around and took in from the manner and expressions of those in front of him that he had gone too far. 'Well, if that's what you want, take me to the King,' he added, and he marched out of the hall.

We followed as best we could but this time were left behind. But we were told of how King Henry, for once achieving some dignity, faced his cousin down, claiming he was king by right and law and the acclamation of the people, and reminding them all of their oaths of allegiance.

There seemed now to be no solution in sight. Henry was indeed king, though the grandson of a usurper, since he had been anointed, crowned. On the other side. York was descended from an older uncle of Richard than John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, who was Henry's great-greatgrandfather, though through that older uncle's daughter… It was all very complicated, as you see.

However, Warwick, who was astute and not as hotheaded as York, understood that the lords' and commons' feelings were with Henry, though not with his Queen and government, and the upshot of it all, after a fortnight of wrangling, was that he was able to persuade York to accept for now the governance of the country as Protector but not as king, but with the provision that if Henry died first he, York, would succeed rather than Edward. Prince of Wales, the son of Queen Margaret and possibly of Henry too.

I realise now. dear cousin, that throughout these proceedings, which I have described to you, I have written of the lords and commons as if these were all the lords and commons. They were not. Many lords, many more than had been at the battle of Northampton, were in the north with the Queen and Prince, and most of the knights and common people of the north also sided with her. The Duke of Somerset, he whom we had met at Guisnes in the Pale of Calais, had returned to Exeter in the west and was raising an army too, and all her other supporters were now flocking to the north-east, to Northumberland on the Scottish borders, where she already had an army of twenty thousand. When she heard that her son had been disinherited she became mad with rage. And she is now moving south, encouraging her army to loot and sack all who live on land owned by the Yorkists.

Here in London Parliament has dispersed and most of York's potential army with it. It seems he has lost much support by aiming for the throne, and all fear the Queen. Only his most loyal friends, those who could never expect clemency from the Queen, remain. York says he will go north to fight her, but the opinion is that he will be lucky to raise an army half the size of hers.

Thus, through pride and overvaulting ambition, York has lost what he might have had and is like to lose much more. Some say, even his head.

Dear cousin, believe me, I shall keep you informed of the outcome as soon as it is known.

Your obedient and affectionate cousin,

Prince Harihara Raya Kurteishi

I drew breath at last and laid down the last page of Chamberlain Anish's neat, correct script.

'there,' I said. ‘I must say I am all agog to hear what happened next.'

However, a gentle snore told me that Ali was less than eager and had at last succumbed to the blessed relief he sought from the pains and aches that came with the rain. I picked up the next page and began to read once more, silently, to myself.

Dear Cousin A fortnight before the winter solstice we left London. Having ascertained that the campaign would take place in the north I decided that we might as well travel with the protection of the Yorkist army as near to Macclesfield Forest as possible in an attempt to get to Jehani's hideout. Thus we would avoid the dangers of highways now given over almost entirely to the depredations of bands of brigands and outlaws.

The case was that, with these civil wars, lawlessness stalked the countryside and, indeed, the smaller towns too. With two monarchs in arms against each other, instead of doing their duty and maintaining order and decency in their realm, lords and lordlings were taking the opportunity to settle old feuds and pursue rival claims for land by means of arms rather than recourse to the law. At the best of times, though, recourse to the courts is always a slow, protracted business in this country, relying not on the wisdom of tried and disinterested judges but an endless parade of lawyers loaded with piles of parchment, Deeds, grants, reversals and titles going back to the Conqueror and even beyond. The result is, more often than not, that the disputed property is wasted in fees before a court, also administered by lawyers, arrives at a decision.

A quicker settlement can be arrived at with a few discharges from blunderbusses and beatings with clubs, and the consequence is that if one is not directly robbed and murdered one may easily be caught up in the cross-fire between rival tending parties.

So, on the ninth of the month they call the tenth, although it is actually the twelfth, we left by Lud's Gate, near the front of an army said to be ten thousand strong but known to be not much more than half that number, travelling at the speed of a team of oxen pulling a large cannon over bad roads. That is, at a slow walk. Need I say it was raining? But now it was a cold, penetrating rain driving in grey curtains across the rolling countryside, or drifting down out of a grey sky.

York rode at the head of this motley band with his son, a handsome young man of seventeen years, known as the Earl of Rutland, at his side, while the rear was under the command of Warwick's father, the Earl of Salisbury. Warwick himself, with other leading Yorkists, remained in London, ostensibly to ensure that a steady train of supplies would be sent on behind the army, to raise further funds from the merchants (who had already contributed four hundred marks, a considerable sum) but in fact poised to return to Calais should matters not turn out as they wanted them to. The King, too, was kept in London with them, a figurehead symbolising the justness of their cause, though in fact a prisoner in the Tower, in the very rooms we had occupied for so many months.

Eddie March was the exception: he was sent into the borderlands between Wales and England where the Yorkists owned much land and where he was expected to recruit a large army, which would link up with York hopefully before they confronted the horde of Scots and Tynesiders the Queen had collected. These were now moving slowly south, looting, raping, burning as they came and thereby costing the Queen much willing and loyal support. Such was the booty, and the freedom they were given to make off with it, though, that her army steadily increased in size. All those bands of vagabonds and bandits I mentioned just now were happy to join her and thereby legitimise what they were already doing.