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.
‘You can have the best of both worlds,’ I said. ‘Don’t join in the battle, just watch from the flank. Wait until Tudor’s line is broken, and then ride down and trample all over him. The King will then announce that he proclaimed you a traitor as a piece of trickery, and that he never doubted your loyalty for a moment. He will drive home the point by creating you Earl of Chester. How about that?’
‘Very clever,’ admitted Sir William. He paused to examine the tip of his blade, which had obviously located a piece of death-watch beetle or something. ‘Would you like a mug of ale?’
I nodded, and he poured me some. It was good, strong stuff, the previous year’s October brew if I’m any judge.
‘How can I trust you?’ he asked.
‘You don’t need to. That’s the point. You can’t lose. If Tudor is beaten, you go in on Richard’s side. In the unlikely event of Richard being beaten, you make a show of going in on Tudor’s side. Or you stay out altogether if you choose. It’s easy.’
Stanley got to his feet, stroking his stubbly chin. I’ve noticed that men on campaign very rarely bother to shave. I suppose it’s too much trouble to arrange for soap and hot water when you’re living in a tent.
‘Call me old-fashioned,’ he grunted, ‘but it’d ease my mind no end to have some little thing in the way of security.’
‘You have my word as a lady,’ I pointed out.
‘A woman’s word,’ he chuckled, ‘is worth precisely nothing.’
‘Sir,’ I said, coldly, ‘if it comes to that the word of a Stanley does not have much of an exchange rate. Do we have a deal, or do we not?’
He nodded. ‘We have a deal. I’ll stand neutral until the battle’s settled, then join the winning side. You have my word. On one condition. Before the battle I want a charter of pardon from the King, under the Great Seal.’
‘And he shall have it,’ said Richard. The tone of his voice was just the same as when he had condemned Hastings to death.
We were at the White Boar Hotel in Leicester. Richard was sitting on his great bed, and the rest of us were standing, apart from Northumberland, who thought himself grand enough to occupy the stool by the King’s desk.
‘Not that it will do him any good, of course,’ Richard went on. ‘After the battle I intend to execute the entire Stanley family, without distinction. I’m buggered if I’m going through all this again. Francis, where do the latest reports put them all?’
Lovell coughed. ‘Henry Tudor is at Atherstone, marching on London from what the scouts report. William Stanley is a little way behind him, like a shadow, somewhere between Tamworth and Atherstone. Thomas Stanley is still further to the north, holding back.’
Surprise, surprise! I thought.
‘He fears for Strange’s head,’ snorted Northumberland.
‘With good cause,’ said Richard. ‘Well, gentlemen, it’s time to get down to talking tactics. Dame Beauchamp, you have leave to withdraw, with our thanks. I have another commission for you, but it can wait until morning.’
I left them to it, wondering what the morning would bring. It would be my last commission, that was certain. This time I was absolutely determined to retire to Horton Beauchamp once the fighting was over.
It was very early indeed when Richard sent for me, but the preparations for the army to march out of Leicester were already in full swing. He paced the room, wrapped in his chamber-robe, his hands toying with a battle-axe that was nearly as big as he was.
‘Alianore,’ he said, ‘I expect to win this battle. If I were a betting man, which I’m not, I’d say that our chance of victory was about eight to one on. So, this is in the way of a precaution.’
He handed me a sealed document, and a purse heavy with gold.
‘In the event of my defeat, you will proceed to Sheriff Hutton. It is essential that the Ladies Elizabeth and Cecily of York do not fall into the hands of this Welsh mountebank. A ship will be waiting at Scarborough to take them, and you, to my sister in Flanders. On the other hand, if I manage to thrash Tudor and his chums, you can tear up the commission and keep the gold for yourself. You have more than earned it.’
In the event of your defeat, I thought, I shall have a few problems of my own to sort out, without troubling myself with the arrangements for a trip to the Continent. However, one does not say things like that to one’s King. I curtsied, and promised that he could rely on me to do my best.
13
It’s very difficult for me to describe the Battle of Bosworth, for the simple reason that I wasn’t there. I refuse to introduce fiction into this Chronicle by pretending that I watched it from a tree or something, as some say Owain Glyndwr watched the Battle of Shrewsbury. However, I’ve spoken to many men who were on the battlefield from start to finish. As their accounts all differ in detail, and often in substance, I am content that my version of the truth is as reliable as anyone else’s, and certainly more accurate than anything published by Henry Tudor.
Richard was the first to arrive, and he selected the site of the battlefield. There was a big, deep marsh protecting the front of his position, which meant that Tudor and his friends could not make a direct attack.
Tudor’s vanguard, under the Earl of Oxford, marched around the edge of this soft ground until they made contact with Richard’s vanguard, led by old Jocky Norfolk. The fighting then kicked off, and pretty fierce it was too, but the greater part of both armies could do no more than stand by and watch – they had the marsh between them, remember?
Poor Jocky was killed early doors, but his son, Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, who was past forty and a good soldier, was still doing the business. There was no need for panic. Not on our side, anyway.
William Stanley was some way off to the north, well able to observe what was going on, but evidently disinclined to do anything about it. There was no marsh between him and Richard, although there was sloping ground that he would have needed to climb to make an attack. He just stayed where he was, waiting to see which way it went. His brother, Lord Stanley, was even further off, a good five miles away or more. There was no way that he was going to intervene, that was the one certainty of the day.
At this point Richard sent Roger to Northumberland, who was in charge of our rearguard. Northumberland was ordered to go around the other end of the marsh, so that the Tudor army would find Yorkists attacking it from two different directions. I think this is called a pincer movement, or something of that sort.
Northumberland has often been accused of treachery by bitter Yorkists. Although he was no particular friend of mine, I must be fair and say that this is a very harsh verdict. The lie of the land was such that he just did not know what was going on as far as the main battle was concerned. However, he was very well placed to keep an eye on William Stanley’s forces, as he had been told to do, and he argued that he needed to carry on doing just that.
He was still discussing this point with Roger when things began to go horribly wrong. Henry Tudor broke from his army, and began to ride northwards, towards William Stanley. I can only think that he was minded to beg Stanley for assistance. If he was running away he was headed in the wrong direction, and if he was confident of victory he had no need to go anywhere.