The King's Dogge (22 page)

‘Nice wine this,' Broughton said appreciatively.

He had found the large flask of wine; you could always rely on him where matters of food and drink were concerned. We sat on the ground in the French camp watching the Flemings and our own archers systematically looting everything and gorging themselves on all the food that they could find. Doubtless the remainder were busy going through the bodies of the enemy's dead.

Victory had come swiftly. Overwhelmed by smoke, most of the French crossbowmen had simply fled and the Count of Romount's column had easily smashed through the men-at-arms. They had then wheeled left towards the centre of the French line and had used their sheer momentum to roll through completely and slaughter the archers who had been delaying the Count of Nassau.

The enemy cavalry, seeing what had happened, promptly fled. Unhindered, the Count of Nassau advanced vengefully towards the enemy's right wing. Having punched his way straight through it, French resistance was put to an end.

‘Mind you, I suppose Maximilian will be angry that he has no cavalry to pursue the French,' I said.

‘I don't know.' Broughton handed over the flask and settled himself down more comfortably. ‘He's probably killed half their army and built up his reputation in Burgundy. What are you going to do about Thomas David?'

I shrugged.

‘If he has the courage to come and see me, nothing. If not, I'll tell the Duke of Gloucester that the man is a coward.'

He grunted and we sat and drank throughout the rest of the day as the French camp around of us was thoroughly pillaged.

The next day we prepared to return to Calais. I had already sent word to Nan that I was safe, but it occurred to me that a further message, to the Duke of Gloucester, might also be advisable. I was sending for a clerk to come to my tent when Thomas David entered.

He was pale and his hands were shaking. Quietly, but in a steady voice, he admitted that he had panicked. ‘I don't know how it happened,' he muttered. ‘Perhaps it was those fire-arrows that were new to me or maybe it was… well it doesn't matter now, does it?'

He looked at me.

‘I'm finished now. It's taken me a good number of years to build up my reputation but when word gets out, everyone will despise me.'

‘Why will it get out?'

‘I imagine you'll tell the Duke of Gloucester,' he said bitterly.

He gave a half smile and turned to go.

‘One error doesn't make you a bad soldier,' I said firmly.

He turned around.

‘You made a mistake, but for the rest of the time you were a good leader. You ask me what I'll tell the Duke of Gloucester – it's simple. I'll tell him, and anyone else, that you brought your men safely here, recruited others and helped to teach them to fight in a new way.'

‘Nothing else?'

‘No, nothing else.'

‘How can I thank you?'

He brushed past Swartz and Haldi on his way out.

‘Maximilian is grateful to you and your men. The French are totally defeated and Martin Swartz,' Haldi told us with a smile, ‘has been knighted by Maximilian and is to be given an important post.'

‘He deserves it.'

Martin Swartz shrugged modestly and Haldi spoke again.

‘He says Maximilian wished to reward you, but does not know how it should be done.'

They both looked at me expectantly; I declined their offer. The German officers had allocated more than sufficient rations for the two- or three-day march to Calais. The men had apparently done well for themselves after the battle and we had no wounded from the men we had brought from England.

‘I did not come here for reward. I came because it would help a friend of mine and his wife.'

Swartz smiled and then said something slowly. Haldi turned to me.

‘He says he's not sure if you are a very good soldier or a very lucky one, but he has enjoyed fighting with you and wishes you well.'

We clasped hands; it was time to prepare to depart for Calais and then on to England. It would be good to see Nan and be able to hold a conversation with someone without every other sentence starting with the words, ‘he says'.

C
HAPTER
10

I
returned to the West March and slipped back happily into my former role. Working closely with Broughton and Dick Middleton, I gradually increased the strength of the Carlisle horse until we had sufficient numbers to mount two simultaneous raids into Scotland.

I briefed Ratcliffe on this when, after a lengthy absence, he came to Carlisle. I was surprised to find that he listened attentively and asked a number of perceptive questions. Not wishing to overdo the news of our success, I tried to steer the talk to other matters, but uncharacteristically Ratcliffe did not want to discuss politics. Instead he brought the conversation back to the attacks on Scotland that I was planning.

‘Richard of Gloucester will wish to lead the next raids,' he said after a while.

‘Of course and I will be there to assist him,' I reassured him.

He gave me a sharp look, but made no comment. Instead, he jumped up and started to pace round the room, carefully avoiding the chests and various items of armour that cluttered it. Watching his narrowed eyes and frowning face, I guessed that he was deliberating with himself about something.

I poured more wine and waited until he was ready. Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, as his head jerked up and he looked me straight in the eye.

‘Richard of Gloucester, whom we both serve, is of course not yet well known in the West March,' he began. ‘Admittedly, it is through your efforts that men here acknowledge him as their overlord, but he is not yet seen as their leader. You will have to do far more if we are to get people to accept Richard as their leader in all parts of the North.'

He shot me a keen glance.

‘Particularly in the West March.'

I returned his glance blankly. All my subordinates here already knew that I was accountable to Richard of Gloucester and reported to him. What on earth was Ratcliffe talking about?

‘Well, yes?'

Ratcliffe shifted his stance uneasily.

‘So what do we – and you especially – need to do to ensure that he is viewed as the leader in the West March?'

Still I did not understand.

‘But that's your job!' I protested. ‘You spend all your time thinking about things like that. Why do you need my views when you probably already know the answer?'

Ratcliffe picked up his gauntlets and looked down at me pityingly.

‘I have worked it out,' he said sadly. ‘But the problem I have on this occasion is that it cannot be me who provides that answer; it has to be you. Now, I will leave you for a while and when I come back I want you to give me the answer.'

His words made no sense and I told him so.

‘They will in a while, Francis,' he said gently, ‘and believe me, I am truly sorry.'

And then he was gone.

It took time for the tears to dry. Indeed, it was curious just how long after Ratcliffe had departed that water still swam in my eyes. At least by now, I was over the worst of the shock.

When eventually I divined what Ratcliffe was talking about, I had found it impossible to accept. The proposal that I should stand down and leave the West March was both incredible and totally unfair. I raged against the ridiculousness of the notion. Dear God, I had built up this rundown backwater of a march, hadn't I? Was it not I who had financed much of its defences and paid for its troops? Who had then destroyed the Debateable Land and taken the war into Scotland? And, in return for this, I was supposed to step down so that Richard of Gloucester would be perceived as the only leader when he arrived. I was being sacrificed for his ambition! It was wrong for the region and blatantly unjust to me. Surely there must be a way in which both Richard and I could be accommodated here. I seized a pen and, summoning up every ounce of imagination and ingenuity I possessed, covered sheet after sheet with different structures and hierarchies, until at last I threw down the pen and faced up to the inevitable. While I remained in the West March, there was absolutely no chance of men here viewing Richard as their leader. Were I to stay, he would be seen as their ducal overlord and titular head, but no more than that.

For a split second I wondered whether I might be exaggerating my own importance, but with brutal honesty I put the thought aside. Richard was not known here and I had been in the West March a long time. If I were to stay, the entire officer cadre here would instinctively look to me, not him, for direction. With the mutual bonds of friendship and shared experiences that bound us all so closely together, it would be hard for them to do otherwise.

Ratcliffe had been right on another point too, I realised. I had to instigate my own departure. After all, there were no obvious grounds to remove me from my post. Indeed, such a move would be counterproductive as there was the strong possibility that such an action would provoke antipathy here towards my successor. While grudgingly I could see the logic of leaving, what truly angered me was the manner in which it was being done. It was bad enough to be ruthlessly cast aside to further Richard of Gloucester's ambitions, but to hear about it second-hand was intolerable.

I seethed as I brooded on it. Richard had not even had the courage to tell me himself! My so-called friend had sent Ratcliffe to do his dirty work for him.

There was a tap at the door and Gloucester's executioner stepped in.

‘Well?' Ratcliffe asked.

‘I'm not resigning!' I said defiantly. ‘After everything I have done for Gloucester, what he is proposing is blatantly unfair!'

I glowered at him.

‘And in view of our friendship, frankly I would have expected you to have refused to be his errand boy on this occasion.'

‘You believe this to be Gloucester's idea?' Ratcliffe asked incredulously.

‘No. It would have to have come from Anne Neville!'

‘But Francis…'

‘And there's another thing too!' I exploded. ‘They didn't even have the guts to tell me to my face!'

Ratcliffe's mouth tightened and he gestured to me to sit down. He poured wine and slid the glass over the table towards me. I waved it away.

‘Drink it!' he barked and there was a steely edge to his voice.

I obeyed him as he watched me through narrowed eyes.

‘In your position, I might have reacted in the same way,' he said tersely. ‘So to make you see sense, I am going to tell you something that you will never repeat. Is that clear?'

I shrugged indifferently.

He smacked the table forcefully with his hand.

‘I said, is that clear?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good. Now Lovell, understand first that neither Richard of Gloucester nor his wife know anything about my mission here.'

I hooted in derision.

‘I don't believe you!'

His grey eyes met mine.

‘Do you want to come to the cathedral with me and listen while I swear an oath to that effect in front of the high altar?' he demanded. ‘Anyway, surely you know me well enough to know I would never lie to you.'

Ratcliffe had always spoken the truth, I reflected.

‘So whose idea was it then?'

‘Mine.'

I reeled in shock.

‘Yours?'

He smiled thinly at my surprise.

‘Yes mine, old friend. Tell me, what do you know about my job?'

Ratcliffe spent his time building up Richard of Gloucester's reputation and I told him so. He nodded.

‘That's reasonably well known. But there's another part to it which no one knows about, and it's a bit more complicated. You see, Francis, the way I see it, it is not enough to help Richard by building him up; I need to smooth his path for him.'

Despite myself, I was fascinated.

‘How do you do that?'

He looked at me evenly.

‘I anticipate that there will be obstacles in his way, and they need to be removed before they obstruct him. My methods vary according to the circumstances, of course. Sometimes it's fairly simple, at other times it can be more complex.'