The Scotsmen seemed unalarmed by my presence and attacked me as they would any soldier. However, I was well protected by my Englishmen. With my sword already out, I broke three lances that were aimed at me before they pierced the skin.
I managed to kill two Scotsmen before my luck no longer held. I heard the hard cry from far away and then saw, more than felt, the lance pierce my left arm. Hitting me in the shoulder, it slipped between the pieces of my armor and dug through the heavy leather underneath. I knew the Scots to be strong, but a throw like this must have come from a wild man.
I looked up and saw him bearing down on me, his sword out, wild black hair flying behind him. Like so many young men who believed themselves invincible, he wore no helmet, just light chainmail over his body. I quickly pulled the long lance from my arm. The blood began to flow, but I could not consider that now as the wild man was upon me.
I was able to deflect his first swing but not his second, which scraped my chest armor but hit my horse in the neck. The creature, not yet dead, fell to the ground and took me with him. I fell on my bad leg and could feel my old injury all but rupture beneath me. It took me a moment to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me, before I could stand.
The wild men, obviously having taken me for dead, had moved on to another Englishman who he killed with one cut of the sword. Turning back toward the battle, he saw me on my feet and began to ride toward me, hanging off the saddle to hit me from above.
With what strength I could find, I pulled my sword up and planned to block his blow. But I saw in a moment that I would never deflect the madness in his eyes. I knew I could not fight him. I waited another two heartbeats before dropping to my knees, swinging my sword hard with my right hand.
It should not have gone as well as I had hoped. My sword cut deep into the leg of his horse, all the way to the bone. The horse, with a terrified ninny, tripped over its own legs, crashing to the ground. One of the back legs kicked directly in front of my helmet, but I could see nothing more than the horseshoe before I knew the danger had passed. Standing, I turned to see the wild man pinned down by his own horse, his back snapped at a strange angle.
Even then he still reached for his sword, so I quickly moved to pierce his right hand. Crying out in pain, he pulled the hand back.
Knowing that a man such as this could not go free, I placed the tip of my sword on the back of his neck.
There was a flash of her, of the witch Anne Boleyn who had seduced me and attempted to kill those I loved, and who had met her end in the same way as this man. But as I did with all thoughts of her, I pushed that memory down. I raised my sword and swung.
I had heard of botched beheadings and wondered how an axe man could miss. Taking off a man’s head was simple.
Chapter Sixteen
May, 1542
Though I couldn’t tell this in the heat of battle, our victory was assured shortly after the fighting began. Faced with Anne’s dedicated troops, the Spaniards – hungry, far from home, and as terrified of their allies as they were of their foes – turned and ran. The Scots held firm, but with the bulk of their army losing faith, they were quickly outnumbered.
I had done well to order Clifford around the hill. After beheading my wild Scot, I had turned toward the battle and found that it had moved away from me. England had pushed the Scots so far back that, without a horse, I could not rejoin the battle. Looking to my right, I watched my archers as they slowly picked off what was left of the fleeing infantrymen. My men, cheered and swarmed around Anne. She continued galloping forward, however, urging the men to give chase to the fleeing troops, which they did happily. Still evading the frustrated Owaine, she began to ride after them. Then, she spotted me.
She rode up to me as an angel would, her armor glittering and her horse confident. Her hair had come unbound during her riding and now tumbled about her head. I knew I should order her back to camp to have it redone, but couldn’t bear to let her go now that our victory was at hand.
She swung down from her horse, a frown overtaking her face as she rushed forward to touch my shoulder.
“It’s nothing,” I breathed out, but just then the pain began. Anne turned back to where Owaine had now joined us.
“The doctor,” she ordered. With that Owaine was gone, fleeing up the hill to fetch one of the surgeons.
“I will be fine,” I argued. “We should be giving chase.”
“The men are doing fine,” Anne replied, reaching forward to staunch the blood flowing from my left shoulder. It was not as bad as it could have been; it took a few minutes for the blood to seep around her hand.
“Lay back,” Anne ordered, and we both plopped to the ground, our armor clanging around us.
Reaching up, I grasped Anne’s shoulder with my good hand.
“I am most proud of you,” I said. She returned with one of her open grins before pushing harder on my shoulder.
It was then that Owaine appeared, having apparently grabbed the first doctor he found and swung him into the saddle. The rattled man was quickly taken off the horse and brought to me, bandages and a pail of water in each hand.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” he said, as Owaine bent down to help take my armor away. Anne stood to give them room. It was she who cried out to Sir Clifford as he passed.
“Your Majesty!” he cried, and turned to gallop up to our small party. The doctor worked quickly; in the time it took Sir Clifford to reach us, he was washing the wound. Clifford peered down at the three of us before speaking. “I trust His Majesty is well?”
“He has been injured,” Anne replied, “but is being seen to.”
“I will be fine,” I called out. “What news?”
Clifford swung down and walked over to where the doctor was already wrapping a heavy bandage around my shoulder. The brown-haired youth glanced at both the doctor and Owaine uneasily. I held up my hand.
It took only a moment more for him to tie off the bandage. The doctor hesitated before speaking.
“I wish for Your Majesty to accompany me –“
“No,” I said with a wave of my hand. I nodded at Owaine, who led the doctor away and ordered him to join those carrying the wounded back up to camp.
“Now speak,” I said as Owaine returned to help me to stand.
“Your Majesty, by the time we reached the path, Emperor Charles and King James were already retreating down the hill. We met them in the woods halfway up the hill. Their guards saw us and began to shoot. Our archers returned in kind.”
Here Clifford took another step forward and lowered his voice; even those wounded around us would not hear.
“An arrow struck Emperor Charles in the neck. He died instantly.”
I felt myself reel back in a bit of shock. I had not expected this news.
“Many of his guards had already fallen and he was unprotected. I do not believe the archer was aiming for him. The guard in front of the emperor had fallen only a second before.”
“And King James?” I asked.
“Taken prisoner,” Clifford said promptly, “and we are awaiting your orders.”
I glanced down, wishing greatly that Charles Brandon or the Earl of Hertford was here, even the Duke of Norfolk back from the dead. A fellow king was now in my possession – what were my options? Without my advisors here I would have to think of all possible solutions.
Looking around me, I noticed most of the wounded were Scots – what would they think when we paraded their king back here to my camp? Would this rouse those left enough to attack us again? Or if I ransomed James back immediately – would he take up arms once more as Emperor Charles had, fighting against the force that had just beaten him?
I felt a small hand on my arm, pushing down on the heavy armor.
“Your Majesty,” Anne said, and then glanced to the side. I walked as far away as I could with her, leaving Clifford and Owaine behind.
I looked down at her and realized that she was now my council. She had participated in almost as m
any battles as I had in this war, and done more to raise troops and protect England while I had been in France. I grasped her hand.
“What do you think would be best?”
“I believe we should take this opportunity for what it is.”
I peered at her, unsure of what she meant.
“Your Majesty, King James is at our disposal.”
“A peace treaty then,” I said.
“No,” she responded with a shake of her head. “We know already our enemies cannot be trusted. The Emperor Charles has attacked our shores time and time again. The Scots have never stopped attacking our northern border, burning down farms and attacking innocent Englishmen.”
“We cannot hold King James,” I whispered back. “The Scots will rise against us and not cease fighting until he was free.”
“They would not fight if he were dead.”
I looked down at the earnest face of my wife and saw the steel behind her eyes.
“All that remains behind is a wife, expecting a child. The Scottish lords will fight among themselves to become her protector, to be the ones to lead their country in the absence of a king, leaving our borders safe. Scotland would no longer be an issue.”
I shook my head.
“The lords would band together if they knew we had murdered their king.”
“Not if he had died on the battlefield.”
I closed my eyes. Anne was correct; King James death would mean greater safety for us, he was our greatest enemy and the one closest to us. And with only one baby between me and the Scottish throne – it was a tempting offer.
However, it was one thing to kill a man in battle, as Emperor Charles’ death, while horrific, was not on my head. It was quite another to kill a king, one anointed by God as I had been. I knew the ritual James had experienced at his coronation, for I had experienced it as well – the holy oil being placed upon you, declaring you sacred, protected by God.
But kings had been killed before.
I opened my eyes and nodded my head. Together, Anne and I returned to Sir Clifford.
“Who has seen King James?” I asked.
“No one,” Clifford answered quickly. “Until we knew what was to be done with Emperor Charles, we kept the prisoners and bodies hidden from sight.”
“Very good,” I responded. “Now listen carefully. You will slay King James, and leave his body with Emperor Charles. The rest of their guards are to be put to death, too. And you will emphasize to your men that absolute discretion is needed, that they are to tell no one about this. If this is done, they will each receive triple their salary this year, and will have my favor.”
Clifford paled but nodded. Even a man of twenty-five years could see the value in this action, and I knew it would be carried out quickly as the man mounted his horse and rode off. I turned to face Owaine, and saw the deep flush of his cheeks. I took two steps toward him.
“You are not to speak of this, either,” I reminded him.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, but his voice was strained. I looked at his red hair that gave him away as Welsh, another people who considered themselves subjected by England.
“Owaine,” I said. “Where were you born?”
“Lancaster, Your Majesty.”
“And as an Englishman, who do you serve?”
The young man took two deep breathes, and looked up into my eyes.
“You, Your Majesty.”
I looked over to Anne, who was watching Owaine with a gentle eye. Taking a few steps, she reached out and grasped his arm.
“I know your family is not from England,” she said kindly. “Neither am I. But it is our bravery, and our love of this country that makes us loyal. And once loyal, we must do everything in our power to protect our fellow Englishmen.”
Anne’s words did more than any threats I could have given. Owaine smiled and nodded. I could see that whatever trouble he felt had passed.
***
The battlefield had been cleared quickly, many of the injured claimed by their family members who had followed the troops down from Scotland. The dead Spaniards were proving to be tricky until a low-ranking noble stepped in and arranged their transport back to Spain.
With the destruction of their leaders, the Scots and Spaniards melted away from our country, the threat gone. Charles’ son Philip stepped in as leader of Spain and Naples, but failed to be elected Holy Roman Emperor. As a result, he lost much of the influence his father had gained. Despite this, I knew he would be at my door soon enough, negotiating, lying, offering friendships and threats as his father had.
Two months after the Battle of Borden, we arrived in Paris to talk peace with King Francis. I had left my son Edward, still a young boy, in England; he was looking forward to the jousts that would take place when we returned. But Anne had insisted on accompanying me, and bringing along a trail of ladies – which included both of my daughters, Mary and Elizabeth.
The siege of Paris had lasted only until word of my victory arrived. The city still did not fall, but Francis wrote and asked for peace, leaving France as it currently was. We now held a sizeable portion of land around Calais, leading all the way up to Paris. England had not held so much land on the Continent in almost a hundred years.
But all of these prizes paled in comparison to the one I received the night before we left for Paris.
Anne had appeared in my room, as she had almost every night since the battle. But instead of giving me her wide smile and bounding over to the bed, to engage in a good argument or something else, she walked directly to me and dropped down to one knee.
“Your Majesty, I wish to inform you that I am with child.”
I let myself drop onto the bed so that I was eye level with her and grasped her shoulders.
“You are sure?” I asked.
“I have conversed with the doctor,” she answered. “And he believes it to be true.”
I grinned and pulled her toward me. I could feel her own smile against my shoulder as we fell backward onto the bed.
“Oh Anne, you could not have found a way to make me happier,” I said as she pulled back to look down at me.
“I hope to make you even happier,” she answered. “I have worked so hard to be a good queen. And I hope I shall make a good mother as well.”
I thought back to all Anne had done – bringing my daughters to court, telling Edward of his mother. I pushed a lock of hair away from her face as I answered.
“Oh, sweetheart. You have already been a good mother to Edward, Mary and Elizabeth. And now you will be a good mother to our child as well. How could a warrior such as yourself be anything less?”
Anne the Warrior Page 15
