by Alexa Aston
Looking down at her, Jasper said, “You’ll make a fine falconer, Elinor. Fine, indeed.”
Chapter 1
The Midlands, England—17 November 1387
Hal de Montfort wished he was back at the royal court in London guarding the queen and her ladies-in-waiting instead of sitting at a camp in the Midlands. Waiting. All they seemed to do was wait, as they had for months now. He itched to do something. Go somewhere. Fight someone.
“Your turn, Hal.”
He took the dice from another soldier and tossed them. Cheers broke out when they rolled to a stop.
“You won again, de Montfort,” growled one of the Cheshire bowmen, a member of the king’s royal guard, as Hal himself was. “If I didn’t know you better, I would say you cheated us with your run of good luck.”
“But everyone knows I am a de Montfort,” Hal proclaimed smoothly, “and true to my oath of knighthood. I would never resort to loaded dice in order to win.”
The soldiers gathered around the campfire nodded to themselves. Hal had his father to thank for his good name. Geoffrey de Montfort had been known throughout England as one of King Edward’s foremost knights in the wars against France. A man known for his fighting skills as much as his word of honor, Geoffrey had passed along what he most valued to his three sons. Hal absorbed many lessons at his father’s knee and had become a trusted knight in King Richard’s court, guarding the monarch as had his brothers, Ancel and Edward.
But both brothers now led vastly different lives from Hal. Ancel, the eldest of the three boys, had married Margery Ormond six years ago and become the Earl of Mauntell. They lived at Bexley with their young children, Cyrus and Miranda. Ancel would one day inherit the de Montfort home, Kinwick Castle, and become its earl. Edward, knighted on the battlefield near Scotland, had been invited to join the royal guard and remained in it until he’d married Rosalyne Parry two years ago. Thanks to his thorough work on a secret mission for King Richard in Canterbury, the monarch allowed Edward to vacate his court assignment and return with Rosalyne to Kinwick. Upon the death of Rosalyne’s uncle, Benedict Bowyar, Edward would be named Baron of Shallowheart. For now, the couple raised their young son and child-to-be at Kinwick.
Hal knew Rosalyne would have had the babe by now. She’d been due to deliver sometime in August. Hal had been on the road with the king’s troops since early summer, though, and no missive had reached him with the news. He missed his family dreadfully even with the life he’d led in the various royal palaces, with a bevy of court beauties to charm and amuse him.
Life had grown dull once the king withdrew from London, angered first by the removal of his favorite, Chancellor Michael de la Pole, followed by Parliament appointing fourteen Commissioners to oversee the Crown’s expenditures. Richard had dragged his army through the Midlands in order to rally supporters loyal to him. They had stopped at both Shrewsbury and Nottingham, where the royal courts at each place had given a resounding reaffirmation of the king’s rights.
“Another round, Hal?”
He started to reach for the dice again when a man stepped in front of him. Hal raised his eyes and recognized one of the Cheshire bowmen.
“The king wishes to see you, de Montfort.”
Hal collected his winnings and rose to his feet, handing the pair of dice to the nearest soldier. He was eager to see what the monarch might want. The group of bowmen from Cheshire had continued to act as the king’s personal guards once they’d left the safety of the Palace of Westminster. Hal and the other knights who had been assigned to the queen’s service and ordered to march with the royal army from London had not been involved with the king in any way. His curiosity grew as he followed the Cheshireman through the encampment. They weaved their way through men and horses until they reached the massive royal tent.
“You may enter.” The bowman gave him a curt nod and retreated.
Hal pushed aside the flap of the tent and stepped inside. The luxurious surroundings made him think he might be back at court. Thick, Turkish rugs lay spread against the dirt of the ground. A large table of fine oak sat in the middle, with benches on both sides. He caught a whiff of roasted pheasant from the gold platter sitting on the table. Silver goblets inlaid with jewels rested next to it.
The king looked up from where he sat, a quill in hand and parchment before him. “One moment, Sir Hal.” He dipped the quill in ink and went back to writing as Hal stood patiently.
He thought the royal tent would be filled to the brim with advisors. It always had been when Hal and Edward accompanied their father when the royal army fought the Scots. Geoffrey de Montfort had been one of the king’s military advisors and he had insisted that his two sons be allowed to witness the strategy sessions as they unfolded. Hal became used to seeing a multitude of men crammed inside the royal tent, as well as several servants scurrying around. Tonight, only one servant sat in a corner, a needle in hand as he mended an item of clothing sitting in his lap.
Looking back, Hal watched the king lightly sprinkle fine sand across what he’d written before he rolled up the parchment after a moment. Placing warm wax along the fold, Richard affixed his personal seal and then set the missive aside.
The king looked weary. Dark circles under his eyes aged him well beyond his twenty years. Hal thought Richard might be missing his wife. The monarch and Queen Anne’s great love for one another was hardly a secret. Hal surmised he had been summoned to discuss bringing the queen north after the couple’s separation of several months. The queen favored Hal among the men who guarded her and the king would know that—and trust Hal to bring his wife safely from London.
The monarch stood and moved away from the desk. Hal bowed to the younger man and was told to rise.
“Sit,” Richard commanded. He motioned to the lone servant, who sprang up and poured them both generous cups of wine, handing one to the king and then to Hal before retreating from the tent altogether.
“Do you know why I’ve asked you here?”
“No, sire.” Hal waited while the king swirled his wine and sipped it thoughtfully.
“Ah. At least the French have learned how to do one thing right.” He took a deep swallow and then continued. “I remembered how your brother did me a great service regarding the wall being built at Canterbury.”
“Aye, your highness. Edward was pleased that he was able to serve you in that matter.”
“The incident unveiled how the Crown was being cheated,” the king said before dabbing his mouth with a cloth. “And Sir Edward negotiated for the wall to continue construction for another dozen years without it costing my royal treasury a single pence.”
Richard dropped the cloth on the table and steepled his fingers, studying Hal. “Both your brothers have served me well. My early years as king were difficult ones because of my youth but Sir Ancel advised me without telling me how I must act. In doing so, he helped me mature and find my own way. Ancel had me use my mind as much as my heart and gut in making decisions.”
He lowered his hands to the table. “And Sir Edward not only was clever enough to save my leaking treasury, he also brought Lady Rosalyne to court to paint my portrait and the queen’s. When one of us eventually passes on, the other will have a precious piece that will allow us to always remember our loved one, thanks to Lady Rosalyne’s ability to bring us both to life.”
The king sighed. “Since your brothers—and your father—have been good friends to the Crown, I’d hoped you would be the same.”
“Name anything you need done, your majesty,” Hal told him. “I will see it happen.”
“Good. ’Tis exactly what I wanted to hear from you.” He paused. “What you hear now is for your ears alone. ’Tis why no one else is present at the moment.” Richard rose and brought two rolled parchments back to the table and seated himself again.
Hal recognized one as the one the king labored over when he first arrived. He hadn’t seen the other. Anticipation rippled through him as he waited for what the monarch would r
eveal to him.
“You know how the Lords Appellant rid me of my chancellor, waiting until my uncle, the Duke of Lancaster, left the country. They are angry they have fallen from royal favor and that I have appointed new, younger men to help me rule my kingdom.”
Hal was certainly aware of the demands the Lords Appellant had made for the king to remove many of his councilors, claiming since Richard was still a minor by law that they, as a Council of Government, would rule in his stead until he came of age. It was the very reason the monarch fled their presence months ago, turning to the courts to assert his right to rule England as he saw fit.
“They are frightened by the opinions the judges rendered in my favor,” the king continued. “Because of it, I received word that they have brought an accusatio against my allies and demand arrest of members of my royal court—those closest to me.”
Hal had enjoyed his lessons in Latin and knew the king spoke of a formal appeal. And he knew that could mean only one thing between the king and the Lords Appellant.
War.
The sovereign’s gaze remained steady as he met Hal’s eyes. “Before the accusation, I had already sent word to two men, men who are my allies and would lay down their lives for me without question. My closest friend, Robert de Vere, secretly gathers troops for me, as does Sir Thomas Molineux de Cuerdale, the Constable of Chester. You know most of my royal guard comes from Cheshire and I look to Molineux and his enormous influence in the area to collect additional soldiers who will show their loyalty to me and the Crown in the weeks ahead.”
Hal steeled himself. “Then what do you need of me, sire?”
“I need all the men they have assembled to join me in haste, Sir Hal. I have learned that my uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, has convinced the other four members of the Lords Appellant to mobilize their forces against me.”
That would be a formidable group to face on the battlefield. Besides Gloucester, that meant that men under the command of the Earls of Warwick, Arundel, Nottingham, and Derby would combine their armies to march against the king. Richard had brought a small force with him from London but de Vere and Molineux would have to persuade many more men to join the king’s side for the numbers to come close to being equal. Even then, Hal doubted those volunteering to fight for the king would be half as well trained as the soldiers marching under the banners of the Lords Appellant.
Richard handed him both parchments. “These are for de Vere and Molineux.” He told Hal the general areas both men would be located near. “De Vere will need to march swiftly and join forces with Molineux before they meet up with my army. Together, I am confident we can defeat these usurpers.”
The king gave Hal a grim smile. “Hide the missives and set out immediately.”
Hal slipped both of the small scrolls up his left sleeve as both men rose. Richard put a hand on Hal’s shoulder. “I am counting on you and your loyalty, Sir Hal.”
“I will not disappoint you, sire,” he told the monarch, his face brimming with confidence.
Leaving the tent, Hal’s smile faded as he made his way through the camp to where his horse stood. The king was a fool if he thought his small army and whatever volunteers his friends could rouse would be able to defeat the soldiers brought to the fight by the Lords Appellant. Each of the five noblemen were superb soldiers in their own right and well respected throughout England, while Richard was counting on his friend de Vere, who had no battle experience and had been accused of treason, to miraculously save him and his throne.
As he mounted his horse and set off to deliver the missives, Hal remembered how only an hour earlier he had been bored by the inactivity and lack of action these past few months. Now, his mission would bring about certain battle.
And he was almost guaranteed to be on the losing side.
Hal sped off into the night, wondering if his days on earth were numbered.
Chapter 2
Radcot Bridge—20 December 1387
Hal glanced over at the Earl of Oxford as they road south to reunite with King Richard. De Vere had gathered an army of fifteen thousand, which marched behind them. As always, the earl sported a neatly trimmed beard and mustache and was meticulously dressed in midnight blue and gold under his armor. Tall and lean, he rode well in the saddle and had an air of excitement about him. But Hal knew the nobleman hadn’t a clue how to manage a force this large and lead it into battle, much less get along with Sir Thomas Molineux, the other man Hal had visited in secret when he delivered the first of the king’s two missives.
It alarmed him that while Molineux had taken the king’s orders to raise an army to heart and enthusiastically gathered soldiers throughout the area, the five thousand troops Molineux provided for this effort had not all come along on this crusade willingly. After Hal found de Vere’s location and Oxford assembled his army to march and link up with that of Molineux’s, Hal learned that those not immediately agreeing to join in the fight on the side of the king had been forced into service by Sir Thomas.
And men who had no loyalty and were not invested in a cause?
Those men could not be counted upon when swords began swinging and blood was spilled.
Hal discovered there was little leadership and even less experience among the combined armies of men who headed toward Radcot Bridge, the only route available since their scouts had informed them that Earl of Arundel had blocked the most direct course. They would need to cross the bridge in order to rendezvous with the king and his men. Knowing that a good portion of these twenty thousand soldiers might bolt once they engaged in battle, Hal could only hope that he would come out of any upcoming conflict alive. To think that being on the king’s side had suddenly become the wrong side was disheartening. Yet, he’d made a commitment to Richard and would serve him until the bitter end.
He couldn’t help but wonder when that end might occur. After more than three hundred years of Plantagenet rule, the strong possibility existed that Richard could die in battle against the armies of the five Lords Appellant. If the king fell, he had no direct heir to take his place since Queen Anne had yet to provide any children in the course of their marriage. Hal imagined chaos ensuing, with a bloody, desperate fight for the throne.
A rider appeared on the horizon, galloping at breakneck speed. As he drew near, Hal recognized him as the last of the scouts sent out days ago.
“’Tis Renfred,” he told de Vere, who looked frightened as the soldier approached. Sir Thomas merely grunted, his lips pursed.
De Vere held a hand up to halt the forward progress of their force. Moments later, the scout reached them, pulling his horse up in front of de Vere’s.
“The Duke of Gloucester has changed direction,” the man panted from exertion. “He’s on the move, headed south, and made Derby his deputy.”
Hal’s gut clenched. This was the worst news possible. Henry Bolingbroke was the Earl of Derby and nephew to the Duke of Gloucester. At only twenty, Derby was cunning and capable. Hal would almost rather fight Gloucester than his daring, reckless, young nephew. It also didn’t help that de Vere had recently repudiated his wife—who happened to be a cousin to Derby. The young earl would be out for blood, both de Vere’s and any man who accompanied him.
Renfred drew in another breath and continued. “Derby and Nottingham have blocked off all routes crossing the Thames, my lord. They are camped between the twin bridges near Faringdon. When I left the area a few minutes ago, I overheard that Pidnell Bridge has already been demolished.”
“And what of Radcot Bridge?” Hal asked when de Vere simply stared openmouthed at the scout.
The soldier shook his head. “Derby’s men have Radcot Bridge under guard and were beginning to dismantle parts of it to prevent our troops from using it.”
“What are we to do?” whispered de Vere, his body sagging in disbelief.
Hal seethed as he watched de Vere crumbling before his eyes. He glanced behind him and saw the hordes of soldiers listening in, watching Oxford’s courage wilt. A low grumb
ling began to rise as the closest men to the front began spreading word of the situation to those behind them. Within minutes, Hal was certain that refusal to advance—if not outright desertion—would set in.
Wanting to fight but knowing failure would result upon contact, he leaned close to the commander. “My lord, we can find a different route to King Richard. We haven’t nearly enough men to take on Derby and Nottingham, and those present are mostly ill-trained as soldiers. I advise you to turn now, while we still have time, else a slaughter will occur.”
“But how will I reach my dearest Richard?” de Vere wondered aloud, not seeming to care what happened to the gathered mass of soldiers behind him.
Sir Thomas glared at the earl through narrowed eyes but kept silent.
Before Hal could intervene further, de Vere straightened his shoulders, determination filling him as he came to a decision. “Give the command to storm the crossing,” he ordered.
Knowing the move to be a dreadful mistake, Hal reluctantly issued the order, listening as it was passed along the ranks. Hoping to encourage those around him, he made ready to charge ahead but halted when a loud roar came from his left. Turning, he saw Derby’s colors flying in the wind, as a large group of reinforcements from the north now surrounded the fledging army. The men in front assembled quickly in close pike formation and surged toward the royalist group.
Before the action even began, de Vere and Molineux’s men broke ranks. Some rushed toward the marsh that they had just marched around. Others fled in the direction of the river, thinking to swim it. The remainder froze, ready to surrender without a blow being struck. De Vere turned his horse in circles, panic written across his face. He gave a shout and took off in the direction of Pidnell Bridge.
Hal didn’t bother to follow. Even if he could convince the young earl to return to his troops, the cobbled together royal army had decided not to stand with the king’s representative. He glanced at Sir Thomas, who looked determined to fight despite the circumstances. Yet moments later, Molineux also took off like a bird in flight, racing toward the Thames.
