Jack recovered his wits, lowered his visor again for fear of an accurate longbowman picking him off from a distance, and then gestured to his attendants to make good their escape while they still could Then he shouted at the boy king’s guards to take him to safety as well, but those craven fellows saved themselves and left the frightened boy behind.
The fleeing rebel army streamed towards the Trent, where a way through the woods to the lower land beyond formed a funnel, concentrating them into a narrow cleft where they fell and were trampled upon. Henry’s army gave chase and the ensuing massacre was so terrible that the cleft ran with blood, and would ever after be called the Red Gutter.
Some of Oxford’s knights were now galloping up the long slope towards the standards and tents at the top. Jack tried to make the little king escape with him. The boy’s small horse in its royal caparison was tethered nearby, and there was even a fallen tree trunk upon which to stand to mount easily in armour, but instead King Edward VI sat down on the grass and hid his face in his hands.
Cicely watched in huge dismay. Jack had no choice. If he stayed he would be captured, but if he left now, he had the chance to fight another day, and so he was faced with a decision. He could not carry a boy who wore full armour, or rescue one who did not wish to be rescued, and so he turned his horse towards the hanger wood and kicked his heels, disappearing into the trees just before Henry’s men saw him. They believed the Earl of Lincoln was already dead, and were more concerned with securing the person of the pretender to Henry’s throne.
Jack rode swiftly through the trees towards the slaughter of Red Gutter. Cicely glimpsed him now and then and was filled with dread that he would ride straight into it, and be cut down anyway, but before he reached the hellish cleft his horse suddenly shied at something. She could not see what it was, only that Jack was unseated and hurled into some thick shrubs at the very edge of the battlefield. The shrubs sprang back, covering him completely, and he made no movement at all, whether from caution or inability, Cicely could not tell. Please let it be caution. Some of Oxford’s men came along almost immediately, and caught his horse, which although richly garbed, did not actually bear his arms or colours. They searched all around for its knightly owner, for only a knight or greater nobleman would have such a horse. They prodded and poked likely hiding places, but they did not investigate the shrubs, which they must have deemed too dense for an armoured man to hide in. It cannot have occurred to them that the rider might have been tossed into them from above.
When the men had moved on, Cicely watched the shrubs for any sign of movement, but there was none. Was Jack all right? More of Henry’s men then scoured the wood for survivors, but although they found some unfortunates, who were immediately put to death, they too failed to discover the Earl of Lincoln, whom Henry wanted most of all.
There was continuing slaughter as the royal troops roamed the battlefield, putting to death those who had survived, albeit with terrible disfigurements and injuries, or those who were on the point of death anyway. Thousands of bodies lay on the sloping land, with abandoned weapons, wounded horses and scattered banners and pennons. Discarded armour lay everywhere, helmets, breastplates, and various other costly items that were gathered eagerly by the conquerors. The Battle of Stoke Field had been a far longer, more savage and utterly ruthless battle than Bosworth.
The king’s divisions arrived at last, and Cicely noticed with scorn that Henry, wearing armour and Richard’s circlet, was to the rear of his men, not prepared to endanger himself. How like him, she thought contemptuously. Those kings before him, her father and Richard, had been brave commanders and skilled fighters who had led their men into battle, as had Jack. Not so this Tudor.
As she watched, he and Jasper Tudor were conducted, still on horseback, to where ‘Jack de la Pole’ lay dead. De Wortham’s body was one of the few untouched by looting, because the Earl of Oxford’s men had been guarding it for the king to see. The armour had been removed, however, for Henry to see the bloodied, gashed face and wounded body. It must be impossible to identify, she thought, save that so much about him in general pointed to his being the Yorkist leader Henry so wished were still alive. Without dismounting, Henry indicated a nearby soldier to raise the dead man’s right hand. He was looking for Jack’s amethyst ring! Not seeing it, Henry instructed that the other hand was raised. There was still no ring. He exchanged some words with Jasper, who shook his head, as if he too doubted the body’s identity.
Henry continued to look down at the lifeless body, and she knew he was really unsure if it was the Earl of Lincoln. Or if Jack’s body had been looted after all. Cicely could feel the way his mind was working. She knew him that well. Yes, the body before him resembled Jack de la Pole in many ways, and had even worn Jack’s colours, but was it Jack de la Pole? Then Henry nodded, and men came to carry the body downhill and over a slight rise to pass out of her sight. She would later learn that there was a shallow valley down there, where a spring overhung with willows rose at the side of a lane. Two graves were dug there, the other for the German commander, Martin Schwartz, who had also fallen. Both bodies were buried hastily, and when the graves were complete, fresh willow staves were driven into them, to mark the resting places. The staves would take root, and new willows would grow, but they would not mark Jack de la Pole’s final resting place.
As Henry and Jasper returned to their forces, Cicely’s attention went to the shrubs where she had last seen Jack. Everything was perfectly still. Daniel came to her side. ‘We will wait until dark, my lady. If the earl is there and still alive, we will find him and take him to safety at Friskney.’
Where Jack had always felt he would go, she thought.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The smell of death and blood hung like a pall over Burham Hill as the occupants of the barn crept out into the shadows of nightfall. Daniel and Rob had tried to make the women stay behind, but Cicely would not hear of it. She had to be there when they found Jack. They left the horses in the barn, and waded through the pond before scrambling up the small slope to the battlefield. Some geese from a village yard set up a clamour, but no one seemed to be aroused.
Fires flickered on the battlefield, and the night was warm and sticky. Oxford’s men still examined the fallen for anyone still alive, and occasionally Cicely heard screams as such poor souls were found and despatched to the hereafter. The fugitives slipped along behind the village, from tree to shrub to dip, desperately trying to remain unseen, and at last they reached the edge of the wood, which seemed to be quiet now. There was still activity in the blood-soaked gully where hundreds of mutilated corpses choked the way, but Cicely and her companions managed to hurry past the opening to the cleft without being detected. Now she could clearly see the shrubs where Jack had fallen, and at last they were able to hide behind them and knew no one had seen anything.
It was Daniel who pushed into the thick foliage. ‘My lord? Lord Lincoln?’ he called quietly, but there was not a sound.
Then Cicely wondered if Jack might think it was a trick. ‘Jack?’ she said. ‘Are you there? Can you hear me, sweetheart?’
‘Cicely?’ A weak voice responded.
Relief rushed through her, and she pushed urgently through the dense leaves and resistant branches, careless of scratches or tears to her clothes. There he lay, his armour removed so that he only wore the protective padded garments beneath. The off-white of the clothing over his left shoulder was badly stained with blood, and there was more blood on his forehead, for he had lost his helm and knocked his head badly during the fall. His face was ashen, as she could see even in the darkness.
She knelt beside him and gathered him on to her lap, where she cradled his head and smoothed his knotted hair. ‘Oh, Jack, my dear love,’ she whispered.
‘Why are you here?’ he managed to whisper, but weakly.
‘You think I would leave you? You do not know how stubborn I can be, my lord of Lincoln.’
‘Is . . . there word of Francis?’
‘No. I heard Oxford’s men say they thought he had drowned trying to escape across the Trent.’ The words sounded so flat and hard, and she bit her lip.
Jack closed his eyes. ‘And I saw Robert fall in the fighting. I suppose Henry now has our failed king. Today was humiliation, sweetheart. An unnecessary rout caused by that fool de Wortham. I still had my mounted divisions to send forward! But suddenly it was as if I had ceased to exist.’
‘He thought he helped by drawing attention from you, and I am sure did not imagine for a moment that he knew the effect he would have.’
‘Has Henry had the guts to arrive yet? I think he shrinks from a little blood.’
‘Yes, he has been and has now gone again, toward Newark. He did not even set foot on the battlefield, except by the hooves of his horse. As for striking a blow in his own cause, he did not come near enough. He is so craven.’
Daniel suddenly reached down to put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Hush, my lady, for horsemen come towards us. A patrol, I think.’
They all fell silent as the riders approached at a leisurely trot. The men wore Oxford’s blue boar badge and talked of the lucrative looting they had done, and of their hope to return to their homes soon. Then they had ridden by.
Daniel was urgent. ‘We must get from here, my lady. Rob and I will help Lord Lincoln. It will be difficult to get past the gully, but if we take every precaution, we should manage it. Rob spotted a stray horse close to the village, saddled and unclaimed as yet. We will use it, otherwise we will not have enough mounts between us.’
Cicely scrambled reluctantly to her feet, and pressed back as the two Friskney men helped Jack from the ground. He was very weak, and being suddenly upright made him lose consciousness, but Daniel and Rob had him firmly, an arm beneath each of his, supporting him easily as they pushed out of the shrubs’ ferocious grip and began to go back in the direction of the barn.
A column of men-at-arms was just emerging from the ravine, blood-stained and grim, not a word being uttered from seeing the atrocities that had been done there. A brief draft of air breathed up from the Trent, and suddenly the stench of the cleft was so powerful and cloying that they all four gagged of it. Only Jack remained unaware.
As soon as the soldiers had gone and the gully was quiet, the four fugitives hastened across the open area between the two parts of the wood, and then held close to the perimeter of the trees again.
Rob found the abandoned horse, and with Daniel’s help they lifted Jack on to the saddle. He was aware again, and as soon as they had fitted his feet firmly into the stirrups, was able to take the reins and manoeuvre the horse himself, although not a great deal, and for how long could only be guessed. The two Friskney men then went to bring the horses out of the barn, and soon they were all mounted.
There was hardly anyone about, no villagers, of course, but no sign of Oxford’s triumphant army either. The lane to the Fosse Way was completely deserted, and they even managed to get across into its counterpart on the opposite side of the main way between Nottingham and Newark. They did not encounter even one of Oxford’s men in the lane that led to the Fosse Way. Soon they were moving slowly carefully away from the carnage of Stoke Field. To move swiftly would be to attract attention.
They needed to be further away from East Stoke before risking speed and clatter, even supposing Jack was capable of strenuous riding. He did not look it. As they passed a lighted cottage window, Cicely saw how white his face was, and how fresh blood spread over his shoulder and down from his forehead, even though Daniel had tied a makeshift bandage around his head. But he was alive. He was alive. Nothing else mattered now but that he be cared for and then sent safely to the Continent, where their aunt would give him all the protection he needed.
But as they rode south-east, thinking themselves well away from danger, and with Daniel and Rob about ten yards in front of the women and Jack, the two men heard something and suddenly reined in. Daniel managed to wave the other three from the roadside into a small copse that grew right up against the roadside.
As they drew out of sight, Cicely was able to see through the trees that armed men barred the way. They were uniformly clad and carried colours and a badge that she knew so very well. They were Jon’s men! She recognized two of them from Wyberton.
She watched as Daniel and Rob rode up to the leader and spoke quietly. The man’s surprise was evident, but he nodded, bade his companions to stay where they were, and then he turned to ride away at speed.
Jack swayed in the saddle, exhausted by his loss of blood and bruises. Cicely dismounted quickly, and she and Mary managed to pull him down from his horse and prop him against a tree. His head lolled, his dark hair falling forward to brush his cheeks. Cicely knelt beside him and pulled him into her arms, rocking gently as she kissed his hair and stroked his face. The scent of thyme was still there, but faintly, and mixed with blood and sweat.
He roused a little. ‘Still disobeying your lord, sweetheart?’ he whispered, smiling.
She kissed his lips, her heart so full that she could not speak.
Hoofbeats returned, two horses this time, and she knew it would be Jon. Gently she eased Jack against the tree again, and then got up. She heard Jon order his men away, and Daniel and Rob, and then he dismounted. He wore light armour, although without a helm. ‘Cicely?’
She stepped out from the trees and then ran to him. ‘Jon?’
He caught her in his arms and held her for a long moment, but he did not kiss her, nor did he take her hand. Instead he was cool. ‘Why are you here? Mm? I am told you have a third man with you. Who is he?’
She drew back. ‘Before I tell you, I wish to know why you are here and not at the battlefield?’
‘I am resting my men, all ten thousand of them, having been obliged to come by a roundabout route because Huntingdon is flooded. I sent a scurrier ahead to tell Henry what had happened, and now he orders—somewhat tersely—that I am to go back to London to quell the unrest Jack de la Pole’s clever Yorkist rumour-mongering has caused. Half the country believes Henry is defeated, even dead.’
‘Would that were so.’
‘Have a care, Cicely, for there are sly ears everywhere. I know the battle is over, and that Jack is dead. I am sorry.’ He watched her face. ‘He is the other man with you?’
‘Yes, but he is wounded. I am trying to take him back to Friskney, from where he can go to the Continent.’
‘Jesu, Cicely, have you any idea of the risk you take? If Henry finds out, he will not be lenient.’
‘Henry will not find out,’ she replied firmly.
‘He will if you continue on this road. My encampment is just out of sight over there, and the road passes right through it. Henry’s messengers are there as well. Believe me, you do not want to take Jack this way.’
‘Then help him, Jon.’
‘You ask a great deal of the husband to whom you so clearly continue to be unfaithful. How long have you been with him? Since I left Friskney? Did you go to Lancashire to meet him?’
‘No, Jon. I have come here from Friskney because . . . I could not endure the thought of him dying as Richard did. Without me.’
‘And what of me?’
She gazed at him. ‘I did not for a moment feel you were in danger, Jon. I knew you would return to me.’
‘How convenient a belief.’
She was dismayed that he should even think it, let alone say it. ‘Jon, please—‘
‘Just take me to him.’
‘Jon? You do not mean to—?’
‘Put an end to him? No, damn it, I do not, although to be sure I would be justified. Where is he?’
She led him back to the trees, where he tethered his horse and then crouched beside Jack, who managed a smile.
‘Well, now, if it is it not good Sir Jon.’
‘How are you?’
‘In the shit.’
Jon smiled. ‘True. Can you manage the ride to Friskney? It is a cursed long way, and will take several
days.’
‘I have to make it there, Sir Jon. It is where I am meant to be.’
‘So I understand. I do not appreciate sharing my wife with you, sir.’ He had lowered his voice that Cicely would not hear.
Jack met his eyes. ‘I love her, Sir Jon, and while that is not an excuse, it is the only justification I can give. That, and the knowledge that you are far higher in her love and estimation than you ever take credit for. Stand by her, and she will stand by you.’
Jon straightened and spoke of something else. ‘Well, my late appearance did not go down well with my nephew, but there was nothing I could do about it, and . . . I would not have thrown in with him anyway.’
‘With me?’
Jon nodded. ‘Even if you are fucking my wife.’
‘If you had arrived in time, England would now have a new king.’
‘Fate decreed otherwise.’ Jon explained that floods had halted him at Huntingdon. ‘But for that, yes, there would be a new king. I would rather it had been you, not that boy.’
‘You are not alone. Perhaps I made an error after all.’
‘You did. You are the leader York looks to, not a boy. You would have raised far more support for yourself.’ Jon straightened. ‘I will do what I can for you now. You had best stay here, or perhaps go deeper into the trees. I will station some guards to close the road, and also see to it that your wounds are cleansed, you have food and drink, and then given more guards to see you to Friskney. I think it best if your hair is cut. You are too damned recognizable.’
‘Make a Samson of me?’
‘I am sure the loss of your pretty locks will not incapacitate your overactive cock. And curls will grow again as much in Burgundy as here.’
‘My gratitude knows no bounds, Jon, and if I am ever in a position to do anything for you, be sure that I will.’ Jack held up a hand.
Jon seized it. ‘In the meantime we keep faith with each other.’
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