I would not dare to bring Prince Edward to court. But it gave the Lady Mary and myself such pleasure to see the young prince. He asked many questions about your majesty and showed us his fleet of toy ships, telling us that he would soon help your majesty direct the battles and defeat the Spanish. He had also acquired five shillings from his tutor, won in a small wager, and asked that I place this money toward his own ship. With your majesty’s permission, I would like to commission a ship from my own privy purse in the name of the Prince.
I had immediately written back to Anne, assuring her that this would be appropriate and looked forward to another ship to add to my fleet.
Outside the door to my outer chambers I halted, glancing at a page who assured me with a nod that the three dukes were inside waiting for me. With a small sigh I nodded for the door to open. All three men pushed their heavy wooden chairs away from the small table and stood, bowing their head until I reached the head of the table.
It did not take long for us to agree that the weather was fine enough for us to plan an attack. The French had been spotted not twelve miles from our current position, and it would be easy for us to reach them within a few days.
“I will see that the men are prepared to move,” Charles said when we stood to leave. It would be time for the midday meal and I knew we would need to eat soundly. Dining with a traveling army was never quite filling.
“The cavalry scouts should have returned by now as well,” the Duke of Norfolk said. “I will speak to their leader and plot the best course for the army to take.”
I nodded and the two English dukes scattered out the door, leaving me to walk along with my brother-in-law. I gestured for him to follow me to my dining hall and he fell into step behind me.
“I have heard from the Queen,” I said. “She writes that your recent loan of gold has arrived in London.”
“Ach,” the duke said, making the same throaty noise I associated with Anne. “It brings me a surprise that little Anne knows of such matters.”
I paused at his words and there was a moment where the duke passed me, before falling into a slight bow as he attempted to maneuver behind me once again.
“She is the queen,” I snapped. “Why would she not know of such things?”
“I only mean that my sister is not an administrator,” the duke clarified. “She does not have the knowledge necessary. She is not smart, not like a man.”
I narrowed my eyes but continued walking.
“In actuality I have found the queen to be quite helpful,” I responded finally as we reached the doors.
“Anne has always wanted to be helpful,” the duke answered. “But I must warn your majesty that she can be quite willful. My mother tried to instill decorum into Anne, but with limited success. In her efforts to be loved, Anne may go too far. I would limit her activities with the courts. And I might suggest that you write to my mother to learn of the best ways to discipline Anne.”
“If she has such problems,” I bit out as we reached the common dining room. “Then why would you send her to England as my bride?”
The duke glanced over his shoulder to where his men had taken a seat at a small table, food already delivered from the kitchens. I could see the hunger in his eyes when he answered, though he tried to shrug off his answer.
“She is the one your majesty chose. I would not contradict you.”
I sighed but waved the hungry young man away and turned to attend to my own dinner. These people of Cleves were so strange – and I had to wonder what means of punishment Anne’s mother had used on my wife. Memories of my own punishment as a child surfaced, but they were never painful – even when Arthur had been alive I had never been whipped. Another boy was assigned to be beaten in my place whenever I misbehaved. But by the tone of the duke, I did not think this had been the case with Anne.
***
Even with my scouts, it took three days for us to find the French army and set up camp. In the sudden heat that had arrived with the absence of rain, all thoughts of Anne and home had been pushed aside; I could think of little beyond how miserable I was as we rode along through the countryside of France.
The land was not as advantageous as before, but still good land, with a well-protected hill that I could sit upon and look down onto the battle. Though not isolated, I would be out of the range of French arrows and surrounded with English longbowmen, as well as Owaine’s now-formidable guard. If, God forbid, the French broke the line, I would be able to retreat, as would many of our men.
I was once again awakened before dawn and taken to my position atop the hill with little more than a small cake for my breakfast. I knew this was more than most of the men had, though, restless as they stood before me with their long pikes braced in position. This time the dukes and I had agreed to not let the French get the first attack, but rather to take the charge down to the enemy. The men would be supported on the right flank by the Duke of Cleves’ cavalry, which would hopefully bolster their courage and protect them from the French archers that had lined the crest of the far hill. My position was toward the left flank, where our longbowmen would stand. There would be no surprise force this time; all troops stood at the ready and in plain sight of the enemy.
As the sun rose on my right I could hear Charles Brandon’s loud yell before he led the men downward, and I felt the same clenching in my gut that always accompanied a battle. So much depended on these men, farmers and laborers, who were even now charging with a ferocious cry. As they ran, the longbowmen slightly below me released their first volley of arrows into the French, who were unable to protect themselves. Most of their front line fell to these arrows.
As sunlight burst over the battlefield, I could hear a sigh of relief from my right where Owaine awaited, mounted on his own horse. The information we had received the night before had been correct; the French cavalry was still out on a scouting mission and not with its army. Our numbers were almost equal, and with the Cleves cavalry we had the superior force.
The archers in front of me released a final volley of arrows which struck the French front line just before Charles and his men arrived, slamming their might into the waiting infantry. Initially my men were repulsed, but I saw Charles pull out his sword and rally the troops, who pushed back and quickly overcame the French.
The sun had not fully passed the horizon when I heard the thunder.
My head snapped to the right flank and I heard Owaine curse. Over the hill came the French cavalry, protected by their archers whom we had foolishly thought in a poor position. Now it was the French’s turn to outmaneuver us, as their horsemen slammed into the Cleves men.
“Retreat!”
I turned toward the Duke of Cleve’s men to see who had uttered those words, but it was hard to tell. I did not believe it to be the duke himself, from his position at the rear of the cavalry where he remained like a coward, but he did not try to stop his men as they turned and fled the scene. More than one man received an arrow in the back for his trouble.
“Protect the men of Cleves!” I looked down to where the Duke of Norfolk was shouting at the longbowmen, ordering them to form ranks with an eye to take down the French archers and cavalry as the duke’s men cleared the field.
“Hold!” I shouted, forcing my voice to be heard. Most of the longbowmen heard my command and froze, but some did not and followed the Duke of Norfolk to the center of the battlefield.
Norfolk could not see what I could. The French cavalry, far from chasing the Duke of Cleves’ men, some of whom had already crested the hill and begun to ride past our tents, had turned their horses and begun to bear down on our infantrymen, running them over and crushing them against the French infantry which had held its line. Before me Charles turned in his saddle, realized what happened and began to shout at the men to turn about and protect the rear, but it was too late.
“Rally!” I yelled to the longbowmen before me. Alarm registered on their faces, but they gamely lifted their bows and stood, ready to fight.
“Your Majesty!” I heard Owaine shout behind me, as he realized my plan. But it was too late; I had already kicked my horse into a canter, charging down the hill.
The Welsh, fighting fruitlessly for their independence hundreds of years ago, were said to be able to use a longbow at close range with deadly accuracy. I could only hope the same could be said of my men.
“Charge!” I ordered, waving for the men to pick up their longbow and follow me. Already in rank, we made a formidable wave that crashed down the hill toward the French.
Once we reached the edge of battle I pulled up and ordered the men to fall into line, which they did with surprising speed. Soon the longbowmen had readied their weapons and were doing their best to take out the French cavalry. As I expected, the horsemen were unprepared for this attack from the rear, and especially not from bowmen at such close range. I thundered down the line, yelling to the infantrymen in my green and white tunics, caught between the now turning cavalry and the French infantry.
“Push onward!” I commanded, my voice ringing out above the sounds of battle. The French cavalry tried to reach my longbowmen but without success due to their deadly accuracy. Also in our favor, the Duke of Norfolk, having seen the tide of battle, had taken the men who had followed him, formed rank, and began shooting into the French cavalrymen as well. Now flanked themselves, the young Comte Du’Bernard, astride a chestnut stallion, cried out “Retraite! Couvrez-moi!”
I watched, startled by this move, as the French cavalry turned as one and began to push past my infantrymen. They rode by relatively unscathed, as they were not trying to kill anyone, merely riding through the fray to the other side. It wasn’t until they reached their own men that I understood their rallying point.
Charles sat still atop his gray charger, attempting to lead my men against the French infantry who had begun to break and run for camp. As the French cavalry neared, a young raven-haired man near the Comte pulled out a small bow and aimed.
“Charles!” I yelled, but it did no good. The arrow pierced a small chink in his armor, between the breastplate and besagew, hitting him in the left shoulder. I watched, helpless, as my oldest friend in the world fell face down onto his horse, which reared up, kicking back three Frenchmen in front of him.
“To the duke!” I cried, even as the Comte reached Charles. Sitting up in his saddle, the young man grabbed the reins and pulled the horse down, leading it into a charge with the rest of the French cavalry. Two more heartbeats passed and then the Comte, the French army, and Charles were gone.
Chapter Eleven
July, 1541
We had neither the resources nor the cavalry to chase down the French, who had seemingly vanished into the countryside. I left it to the Duke of Norfolk to organize the retreat, to gather the spoils of war, and to plan our defense.
“Bring me the Duke of Cleves!” I thundered as I rode into camp. A page ran off to do my bidding; everyone in my train knew to hurry when my temper flared. I strode into my tent where my secretary waited in a deep bow.
“Begin writing to King Francis!” I barked. “Begin with the usual pleasantries and demand to know what the ransom for the —“
I trailed off. What to write? Demand the ransom for the Duke of Suffolk? Or the body of the duke? In those last moments I could not even see if Charles was alive. And I would not put it past Francis to claim Charles was alive and well, only for me to pay a full ransom and have him return a corpse.
“Your Majesty?” my secretary asked.
“Tell him that we will be prepared to discuss the ransom for the Duke of Suffolk,” I said finally. “That we will demand proof of – that his life is not forfeit.”
The secretary nodded and went back to scratching out my orders. I could feel the exhaustion that came after a battle beginning to overtake me. It was hard to believe that it was no later than seven o’clock in the morning.
“Your Majesty?” a page said, creeping into my tent, his voice low. “The Duke of Cleves.”
I nodded and the boy pulled back the tent flap, allowing the muddy duke to enter.
“Your Majesty,” he said loudly, falling to one knee. “Might I congratulate you on your victory on the battlefield.”
“That is not what I wished to discuss,” I said, my voice strained. Already my anger at this man was rising. “I had hoped you could explain your actions and the actions of your men on the battlefield today.”
“Your Majesty, as you understand, I cannot risk my life —“
“Then explain the actions of your men,” I interrupted.
“They were not prepared for the cavalry,” he argued, his voice rising. “Your Majesty assured me —“
“I assured you nothing,” I barked back. “One is never assured in war. We were merely operating off the intelligence at hand. Your men today were nothing but cowards.”
I could see the duke bite his lips but he did not respond.
“Due to your actions, Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, was captured.”
“Your Majesty, I sure we can recover the body —“
“We have no proof he is dead!” I roared, allowing my temper to get the best of me as I slammed my hand down on the desk, disrupting the work of my secretary. The boy quickly lifted his letter from the now-spilled ink well and began to clear up his desk.
“You will pay the ransom for the Duke of Suffolk,” I said, my voice low. The duke made to argue, so I quickly continued.
“You will pay his ransom and the ransom needed for any other man who was captured today because of your cavalry’s cowardice. Beyond which, your cavalry will now be trained by the Duke of Norfolk and any men he sees fit to —“
“Your Majesty.”
I looked up, furious at having been interrupted. Owaine stood, the flap of the tent held over his head as he looked down at my feet.
“I am sorry to interrupt but an urgent message from Lord Cromwell.”
I slammed my hand down onto my desk again, waving for the Duke of Cleves to leave. He scrambled quickly to his feet and took off past Owaine. I nodded for the message to be brought to me, refusing to speak to Owaine.
The letter was mud-splattered but legible. As I looked down to the letter, I felt my anger melt away and cold fear replace it. There were only three lines.
Emperor Charles not in Italy. Sighted off of Bristol. Heading for Dover.
***
I reached Calais within a week. I had ridden with no more than my guard and the Duke of Norfolk, who had refused to leave my side upon hearing about the possible attack from the Spanish.
“Your Majesty will need some voice of reason,” he had explained, then refused to say more. I had glared at him for this remark but knew he was right – with Charles in the hands of the French, there was no one to talk with besides this gruff old man. Right now I needed him more than my army did.
However, this meant that the Duke of Cleves was left as the highest ranking nobleman with my army, and the only one who could barter with the French for Charles. We had received word that he was alive, but there was no way to prove this. I still could not bring myself to trust my brother-in-law, but could see no one else to leave in command. I could only hope he would follow my orders to lead the army to Guînes and prepare for a siege from the French. What little ground had been gained might now be lost.
The crossing back to Dover was horrendous. The rain held off but the wind was high. The small ship we had commissioned rocked precariously and our movement was slow. Every second we stayed below deck, hands gripping the side railings as we tried to remain upright in our seat, felt like torture.
It had taken us a week to reach Calais. Probably another week for the letter from Cromwell to find me. Another three days for a messenger from Bristol to reach the court. That was seventeen days since the Spanish sighting. If Cromwell was right and they were heading to Dover, we would be too late.
The wind finally let up enough for us to make landfall and I made my way to the deck, Owaine clo
se on my heels, with the Duke of Norfolk behind him. As I rounded the corner and looked over the bow of the ship, I felt my heart sink. My worst fears were true.
The city was still smoldering. Our men were running along the edge of the ship, calling out to the dock, but no one appeared, save two small boys who caught a line and tied it off to the only remaining mooring the best they could. Sailors began to hop onto the dock and tried to bring the ship into port, lining up a plan as quickly as possible so I could cross back onto English soil.
When we finally stood upon the dock I nodded to Owaine, who took a deep breath and approached the two boys before me.
“Hello,” Owaine began with a small smile.
“Hello sir,” the oldest said, his grimy cheeks working into a smile.
“Do you think you could tell me what happened here?” Owaine asked gently. The oldest boy glanced at me and then looked back to Owaine.
“Are we in trouble?”
“No,” he answered. “We just want to know what happened.”
“We was at home!” the little one said before hiding behind the older boy once again.
“Yes,” the boy said, stepping a bit in front of his brother. “We were at home when the yelling started. Mother placed us out back behind the wood pile and told us to hide. That was before the fire started.”
“Did you see who started the fire?” Owaine asked.
“The big sailors,” the boy responded. “Who talked funny.”
I sighed and shook my head at Owaine. These boys obviously did not know much, but it did confirm that this destruction was caused by the Spanish.
“Where is everyone?” Owaine asked.
“They are over by the hill,” the boy said. “Burying the dead.”
Owaine turned to the sailors behind us and ordered them to keep an eye on the boys. As he did this I walked down the dock and onto the charred ground.
“We won’t find enough of an army to confront them with,” Norfolk said behind me. “Not here.”
“No,” I agreed. “We will have to travel to London. I can only hope that we will beat the Spanish there.”
Anne the Warrior Page 10
