The Red Rose of Anjou - Plaidy Jean. Страница 86

It was while he was in Warwick that messengers arrived in secret from his brother Clarence.

Clarence craved Edward’s pardon and wanted to rejoin him. He was filled with remorse to think that he had gone over to Edward’s enemy; and if only he could come back he would bring a considerable number of men with him.

Edward rejoiced. He would forgive his brother; and although he would not trust him again, he bore no rancour for he had never trusted Clarence as he had Richard, and had always known Clarence for what he was—feckless, avaricious, self-seeking. Still he was his brother.

Indeed, yes, Clarence should be forgiven.

Near Banbury his men came to a halt. The enemy was in the near vicinity. A party of soldiers came riding towards Edward’s forces and Edward saw that their leader was Clarence who in truth had changed sides and brought his men, whom Warwick thought were with him, to fight for Edward.

This was good progress, thought Edward as he embraced his brother without a reproach. He merely told him that all was forgiven and he was glad to have him back on the side to which he belonged.

Clarence told him that Warwick would not listen to any terms. He had gone too far to turn back. Moreover he thought he was going to defeat Edward and continue in his role of King-Maker. He had decided that Henry was to be his puppet now since Edward had shown that he was not to be jerked into suitable action by Warwick.

And so they met at Barnet. Warwick had drawn his forces at Hadley Green just to the north of the city. He had chosen his position where the ground sloped and had so placed himself that he commanded a narrow bottleneck from which he calculated the enemy would have to emerge. Edward was not going to fall into such a trap and under cover of darkness moved his forces so that they were parallel and very close to those of Warwick. Warwick was soon to realize that his well-laid plan had failed and he was reminded of the disastrous defeat at the second battle of St. Albans. A heavy mist enveloped the battlefield and it was difficult to see where the forces lay. This was equally frustrating to both sides and at first it seemed as though Warwick would be triumphant. On one side of Edward was his brother Richard and on the other Hastings; Clarence was fighting where they could keep an eye on him, for Edward knew that if the battle went against him Clarence would attempt to change sides again and such changes in the heat of battle often made the difference between victory and defeat.

The battle had started as soon as it was light at between four and five in the morning and because of the heavy mist at one time Warwick’s followers were sending arrows into their own ranks. The battle swayed one way and another. Here were two men whose whole future hung in the balance and each was as determined as the other on victory.

‘Curse the fog,’ cried Warwick. He could not know what was happening in his flanks. Out of the mists he perceived the Yorkist banner perilously close and one of his men came riding up panting, to cry out that Exeter was being sorely pressed. Warwick sent reinforcements to the Duke and then the cry went up that Edward of York was in flight.

Triumph surged over Warwick. He was invincible. He was the maker of Kings. He could not fail.

But it appeared that Edward was merely retreating to prepare for the attack. Through the mist he swung in, forcing the Lancastrians backwards, and Montague’s men were falling to the right and left as Edward hacked his way through their forces.

The fighting was fierce, the carnage terrible, and the cries of the wounded and dying horses filled the air. Where the mist had lifted a little, Warwick saw that his forces had dwindled and that the Yorkists were advancing on them.

He knew then that the battle of Barnet was lost to him. He did not despair. He was thinking of the second battle of St. Albans. He had lost that battle and turned it into a victory.

But he must make good his retreat. He must live to fight another day. One battle did not win or lose a war.

He had his horse and while he had a horse he was safe. He saw that his men – those who could and were of the same opinion as himself—were preparing to escape. The enemy would be after him, he knew. Was it not he who had taught Edward to let the common soldiers go and attack the leaders?

Now was the time. He would make for the forest. It was not the end. Just another battle lost.

He would snatch victory out of defeat. Escape...get to London. An arrow whined past him. Another came and struck his horse. He stumbled to the ground; he was heavily encumbered by his armour.

He was staggering and trying to run when someone shouted: ‘That’s Warwick.’

They were after him. The enemy. They had surrounded him. Someone threw him to the ground. They lifted his visor.

"Tis true. ‘Tis Warwick.’

No mercy for the leader. They were Yorkists—all of them, intoxicated with victory. They were all of them fighting for the honour of slaying the great Earl.

He saw the flash of the knife as it descended. Darkness was heralding the end.

Richard Neville would make no more Kings.

###

Edward refreshed himself and his men in the town of Barnet. They were weary, for the battle had lasted for three hours. Then he ordered that the wounded should be attended to.

So Warwick was dead. That saddened him. He had admired Warwick, had idolized him. He did not want him to die. It had grieved him that they were on opposing sides and if Warwick had lived he would have freely pardoned him.

He gave orders that Warwick’s body must be exposed for the public to see so that none should say afterwards that the King-Maker still lived. Then after a few days he should be taken to Bisham Abbey and buried there with his family.

###

Margaret was awaiting news of the battle. She was certain that this was going to set Henry firmly on the throne. Edward would be Regent and she would be at his elbow.

It was a long time since she had been so happy.

Then she saw the messengers. They came slowly—not as bearers of good news should.

She hurried to meet them.

‘God help me,’ she cried, ‘what has happened?’

The messengers could not speak for a few moments. They just stood there looking blankly at her.

Nor did she reprimand them. She knew.

‘The Earl of Warwick has been killed,’ they told her. ‘His armies are in retreat. Edward of York has won the battle of Barnet.’

She swayed a little and sought to steady herself. She saw her son coming towards her.

‘News?’ he cried. ‘Oh dear lady, what news?’

She turned to look at him and he saw the bleak despair in her white face.

He ran to her and put his arms about her. She said quietly: ‘I think I am going to swoon. Let...me...Let me for a brief while shut this away from me.’

Then he knew.

He stared at her blankly and then he caught her before she fell.

###

Her mood of desperation did not last long. It was not the end. One battle did not make a war. They had been defeated before. Warwick was dead, it was true, but the Prince of Wales thank God had not been at Barnet. They would win through yet.

‘Is this not how it has always been?’ she demanded. ‘Ever since the white rose started to fight against the red there have been victories and defeats. One battle cannot decide the war. We have lost Warwick but Warwick did not always win. We are here in England...The King is free. We are free. We shall go into battle again and win.’

Jasper Tudor came to her. They were not beaten yet, he said. The mist had beaten them at Barnet. They would win through yet. She must not despair. If she and her gallant son marched through the country they would bring the people rallying to their banner.

The Prince said that Jasper was right: they would go into action; and as she looked at her son a terrible fear came to her. What did she want most, this son of hers alive, vital, beautiful, the whole meaning of life to her, safe and well, or the possibility of a crown?