the Rose & the Crane

by Clint Dohmen

  “I could indeed, brother, and what of you?”

  “I plan to set up on the hills north of Dadlington off Richard’s left flank. Maybe a half-mile east of you?”

  “So you will join Richard?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He has your son as a hostage.”

  “Yes, but I’m married to Henry’s dear mother and things could go poorly at home if I were to help kill my own stepson. I might never have intercourse again.”

  “And people think we have it so easy with our armies and our wealth. All I hear about is how wonderful it must be to have the power to choose your own side. They never consider the fallout that we have to deal with, up to and including retribution in the boudoir itself.” Sir William drained his cup. “Tasty. Where did that come from?”

  “An area known as Graves in the Bordeaux region of France. I’m addicted to the stuff at the moment. It is from an archbishop owned estate called Château Pape Clément.”

  “The priests are making decent wine these days, and the monks seem to brew a fair ale. Maybe the clergy aren’t useless pricks after all.” William took another sip. “Well, brother, have we decided what we’re going to do tomorrow?”

  “Dear William, why on earth would we make such a momentous decision before the battle even starts?” Both had a good laugh at that one, and after a brotherly embrace, they rode back to their camps.

  Chapter 40

  August 22, 0600 Hours, Fenn Lane

  Henry’s Army

  THE DAWN LIGHT broke as the long column of men moved east along the ancient Roman road. Sunlight flickered off the keenly polished armor of the mounted nobles. Behind their respective lords, the brightly colored tunics of the foot soldiers advertised their factions. It was a peculiar hodgepodge: France, Wales, Scotland, England, and countless nobles’ individual familial coats of arms were mixed in with the muted earthen tones of the yeoman archer ranks.

  Simon, Neno, Duncan, and Kojiro all rode their horses near the front. They rode beneath Simon’s rose and dragon banner that hung limply in the still, humid August morning air, which smelled of musty grass and sweat. Duncan’s Carmarthen archers walked in loose formation behind them.

  Neno, although he had been briefed once before, asked for a review of the battle plan. “And can you make it simple, per cortesia?”

  Simon obliged because he did not think it would hurt to remind everyone of the current situation.

  “We are marching east on this road until we come to a marsh. King Richard and his army are east of said marsh. We believe King Richard has placed Lord Northumberland and his army directly east of it.

  “There is a bridge on this road that crosses a stream in the marsh. We are not going to cross that bridge, but thanks to Kojiro’s suggestion in the war council, we are going to leave a contingent of pikemen at that bridge, in case King Richard wants to use it to get around our flank.

  “Lord Thomas Stanley and Sir William Stanley are both sitting with their armies on separate hills to the south of us. We don’t know whose side they’re on. I don’t know if they know whose side they are on. It will behoove us to start out winning quickly, though, because they like winners.

  “With Northumberland directly east of the marsh, it is likely the Earl of Norfolk will be to his right, which would place him north and east of the marsh. Sir Robert Brackenbury has brought the artillery from the Tower of London to the battlefield, and we assume he has placed it also east of the marsh, where they expect us to attack. We are not going to attack across this road through the marsh. Instead, we are going to break left and circle north of the marsh where there is a great plain.”

  “The plain where Norfolk is likely deploying at the front of Richard’s main force,” Duncan helpfully added.

  “Yes, that plain.” Simon glared at his cousin, who just shrugged. “As I was saying, we will circle north of the marsh and meet Richard on the plain, hopefully leaving Northumberland out of the fight. Lord Oxford will lead the vanguard, John Savage will hold the left, Philibert and the French will be in the center, and Rhys Ap Thomas and Talbot will hold the right. We here will fight under Savage on the left.

  “So if we turn north at the marsh, the Stanleys will be behind us?” Neno asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I hope they join our side.”

  “Me too,” Simon admitted.

  0630 Hours

  Ambion Hill

  South of the village of Market Bosworth

  “Henry’s marching on the Roman road towards our left flank, where Lord Northumberland waits. Keep riders ready to bring Northumberland forward as soon as half of Henry’s men cross the marsh bridge,” Richard ordered.

  He hadn’t slept a wink all night. He was tired and pale as a ghost, but he was comfortable leading men into battle and so he shouted orders with confidence. “When he’s within range, start your cannon, Brackenbury. When he’s committed to the crossing or if he gives up on it, you’ll hook around the marshes, Norfolk, and smash him on his left flank. Do you both understand?” he asked with purpose.

  “I do, Your Majesty,” the Duke of Norfolk and Sir Robert Brackenbury answered in unison.

  “I don’t want a single Lancastrian, Welsh sheep shagger, or French frog, to emerge alive from that swamp,” Richard warned as he dismissed his trusted captains to do his bidding.

  0700 Hours

  The hills north of Dadlington Village

  “Lord Stanley, King Richard orders you to attack as soon as Henry’s vanguard is halfway across the bridge,” a herald from King Richard informed Lord Thomas Stanley.

  “Thank you, kind messenger, please inform the king that we wait for his command.”

  Didn’t I just give you that command? the herald thought. But it was not his place to question lords, so he rode back to his king.

  0715 Hours

  The hills north of the Village of Stoke Golding, half a mile west of Dadlington, south of the Roman road

  “Sir William Stanley, King Henry asks you to support his right flank as he maneuvers north around the swamp to confront Richard,” a herald from Henry Tudor announced.

  “Thank you, trusted messenger. Please inform the king that we will support him on his command,” Sir William Stanley answered.

  That’s not much of an answer, the herald thought. Nevertheless, he pulled back on the left rein. His horse turned, and he rode swiftly back to Henry Tudor.

  0730 Hours

  Southwest of Ambion Hill

  The Duke of Norfolk ordered his troops from column formation into line formation as they approached the field north of the marsh from the east. Peasants carrying their clumsy hand cannons made their way slowly past the front rank of billmen and halberdiers, well aware that they would die first. Filling in behind the ranks of peasant billmen and halberdiers were the professional men-at-arms, and behind them, actual knights. The longbowmen deposited their bundles of arrows on the ground and strung their tremendous yew bows before also making their way forward.

  Behind the Duke of Norfolk’s vanguard, King Richard’s men formed ranks, proudly flying the standard of the King of England: gold fleur-de-lis on a blue background and England’s golden lions on a red background. King Richard and his bodyguard cantered below his personal standard of the white boar while the king personally organized his formations and encouraged his men.

  “Make no mistake, men; this is an invasion by France. This is not a civil war. You fight today for your king and for England!”

  Boom!

  A cannon opened fire, and Richard’s horse jumped, startled by the sudden explosion. The Battle of Bosworth had begun.

  0800 Hours

  Roman road, west of the marsh

  King Henry’s Army

  The first cannonball ripped a hole through the Lancastrian column. It struck about forty yards behind Duncan’s archers, always an independent lot, who had peeled off the road unbidden. Ten men who had fought battles in England and followed Henry through Brittany, France
, and now back to England again would never see their dream of a Lancastrian England. Those not killed outright were maimed badly enough that they would be dead within the hour.

  Maybe Kojiro was right; maybe fighting with gunpowder is devoid of honor, Simon thought as he looked back at the men he had broken bread with in France.

  “Get those bloody corpses to the side. Ranks close up,” a nasty-looking sergeant-at-arms bellowed at his troops.

  “Unlucky bastards,” one soldier mumbled as the bodies were carried off the road.

  In fact, it had been a lucky shot. The serpentine cannons were firing from across the marsh, and between the inherent inaccuracy of the weapons themselves and the distance, few cannonballs were finding their mark. Unfortunately, those that did find their mark in the tightly packed columns had an outsized impact on morale.

  Oxford had seen the last cannonball hit home. That’s enough. I can’t lose many more men or some may start to flee.

  He rode to the front of the lead column where he met Simon. “Lord Lang, time to get off this road. I need you to double your speed and break left around this marsh. We can’t afford many more strikes like that last one.”

  “Well, it won’t be an issue for those of us on horses, but the men in armor and on foot will be exhausted if I run them. We’ll be hard pressed if we’re attacked when we get around the swamp.”

  “You will have to use the cavalry to skirmish until your infantry can catch its breath.”

  “Quick pace, follow me,” Simon ordered to the men around him, including Duncan’s Carmarthen archers who had already taken a head start. He spurred his Andalusian stallion into a trot, and the infantry followed him northward into the field west of the marsh. Iron cannonballs from the Yorkist gunners continued to take their toll, but the Lancastrians did not falter.

  Simon looked to his left as English, French, and Welsh knights, resplendent in their armor, rode past. Pennants of all colors snapped in a newly risen morning breeze as they cantered northward past the infantry. He knew what would happen if the infantry had no time to rest after their double-time march around the marsh; they would be exhausted and slaughtered, much like the fate his father’s troops suffered at Towton. Simon put Duncan in charge and ordered Kojiro and Neno to stay to protect the archers.

  Then, he rode off to join the cavalry.

  0815

  Redmor Plain

  King Richard’s Army

  “So he didn’t cross the bridge.” Richard took a moment to consider the situation. His trap hadn’t worked, and now Northumberland sat wastefully on his own far left flank. “Perhaps Henry is not as green as I had assumed.”

  The Duke of Norfolk, who had rejoined the king after deploying his troops, said, “He has good advisors and he may just have enough sense to listen to them.”

  “Well, he is distantly related to me, so I suppose he can’t be a complete dullard.”

  “But he is not a warrior like you, my king. We shall see how he reacts when his mettle is tested.”

  “Right you are, dear friend, right you are. But enough blathering, he’s trying to skirt the swamp to the north so that’s where we’ll hit him. Take the vanguard, Norfolk, and smash him there. I will end this rebellion today.”

  “Yes, my king,” Norfolk answered, and galloped off once again to direct his troops.

  As soon as Norfolk was gone, Richard called for a herald. “Messenger!”

  “Yes, Majesty?”

  “Take a message to Lord Stanley. Tell him that if he does not attack Henry, I will send him his son’s head. And when this battle is over, I will have his.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  0820

  Behind a ridge, one half-mile east of the marsh

  Lord Northumberland’s lines

  “Should we advance, my lord?” one of Lord Northumberland’s retainers asked.

  “Have we received any word on whether Lord Stanley has declared yet?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then if we march west or turn to march north, that leaves him on our flank or to our rear. I don’t like having a Stanley on my flank or my rear. Furthermore, we’ve received no direct orders from Richard. We stay put.”

  0830

  Redmor Plain, King Henry’s heavy cavalry

  That’s interesting, John Savage thought as he observed the Duke of Norfolk’s infantry stream towards the northern end of the marsh. They’re out of formation. I don’t know if it’s overconfidence or a case of being hasty, but I’ll make them pay for that mistake.

  “Single battle line! Forward!” The commands echoed through the ranks as the column of cavalry fanned out into a single horizontal line, Simon Lang at its center.

  Next to Simon rode Welsh cavalrymen, trained personally by Rhys Ap Thomas. Their horses all bore the proud red, green, and white of Wales. To the left of the Welshmen, English knights rode under the standards of many different Lancastrian families. To Simon’s right, the French were universally clad in blue and gold. As odd a charge as I’ll ever take part in, he thought.

  At a hundred yards, Simon lowered his visor and coaxed his horse into a canter.

  At fifty yards, Simon and the men surrounding him spurred their horses into a gallop, and at thirty yards they lowered their lances.

  The results were predictable. Well-aimed lances skewered Yorkist archers, hand cannoneers, and unbraced billmen. The plate-armored horses smashed through Norfolk’s front line and wrought havoc. The initial impact of the cavalry charge had its desired effect. In addition to killing many, the charge halted all forward progress of Norfolk’s vanguard, giving the Lancastrian infantry time to move into formation north of the marsh. But cavalry was not well suited to battling billmen and halberdiers, and when Norfolk’s second line came on in formation, men on horseback began to die.

  Simon dropped his lance and drew his sword. He parried and hacked at the advancing Yorkists, but he and the cavalrymen quickly became islands in a sea of halberds and billhooks. The Yorkist hand cannoneers returned and began to shoot the knights’ horses out from under them. Simon looked around and saw fewer and fewer islands.

  “Withdraw! Withdraw!” he heard above the melee from John Savage. Simon wheeled his horse and fought clear. As he galloped back towards the Lancastrian lines, he looked to his right and left to see only half the men he had started his charge with still standing.

  Chapter 41

  0845

  Behind Henry’s Lines

  THE GALLANT BUT costly cavalry charge had given Oxford time to form his lines north of the marsh, but as he suspected, Norfolk’s line stretched hundreds of yards further than his own. And behind Norfolk, Richard’s men formed a second line deeper and longer than Norfolk’s.

  “Messenger!”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “Tell Savage, Philibert, Rhys, and Talbot to form wedge columns and drive straight through the enemy.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  Redmor Plain

  Lord Oxford’s vanguard

  Under Duncan’s direction, the Carmarthen archers kept a constant stream of armor-piercing bodkin arrows raining down on the advancing wall of billmen. Norfolk’s archers were not as skilled as the Welsh, but the Yorkists had a lot more men to spare, and the missile duel was about even.

  If the Yorkist cannons were given enough time to shift north, Simon knew things could turn ugly in a hurry. We need to engage quickly. I don’t like standing around, just hoping I don’t get shot. He looked at Kojiro who was as still as a statue in spite of his antsy horse. Wait until the enemy gets a taste of this one, he thought.

  A messenger on horseback called out to Simon. “Lord Savage orders you to set a wedge column formation and advance.”

  “Tell Savage it’s about bloody time,” Simon replied then turned to his men. “Spears forward!”

  At Simon’s command, all the halberds, poleaxes, billhooks, pikes, and spears moved to the front of the line while Duncan and the longbows moved to the rear.

 
Simon looked at Kojiro. “The horses won’t survive for very long against the enemy billhooks.”

  “Yes, it is time to leave them,” Kojiro agreed, knowing Kuro would protest strongly.

  “There are enough grooms who lost their lords in the cavalry charge. They’ll be well taken care of,” Simon reassured Kojiro. Despite Kojiro’s impassive face, Simon knew he was concerned for Kuro’s well-being.

  Kuro did not like how things were shaping up at all. He’d seen other horses charging by earlier, and now his master had dismounted and his reins were being given to a boy.

  If I’m not allowed to fight soon, I will drag this boy into battle behind me, Kuro stewed in his misery.

  Neno needed no further prodding to get rid of his horse. Although the Percheron had caused him no problems, he felt much safer with both feet planted firmly on the ground. He gave his reins to a dejected-looking twelve-year-old boy who had just lost his master in the cavalry charge. The boy perked up at being given a new battlefield task and took a firm grip of the horse’s bridle.

  “If you please, what is your name, milord?” the boy inquired.

  Neno laughed so loudly the groom feared he’d taken responsibility for a madman’s horse.

  “I’m not a lord, I’m a sailor.” Neno looked the boy in the eye as he removed his naginata from its sheath tied to the horse.

  “Yes, milord, whatever you say,” the groom answered.

  Now I’ve been called a lord, Neno thought to himself as he walked back to Simon and Kojiro. What’s next? A duke?

  When Neno returned, Simon thought he saw a grin that appeared more stupid than usual, but he couldn’t tell for sure because he’d seen Neno with many stupid grins.

  “Advance!” Simon ordered.

  The Lancastrians charged forward.

  Neno used his light, exquisitely balanced naginata against the enemy with the speed of a man wielding a sword. He batted away billhook tips, broke enemy halberd shafts, and carved out a ten-foot hole in the Yorkist front line. Taking advantage of the gap in the Yorkist spear line, Kojiro moved straight into close combat with both swords flashing. Simon watched in awe as the black-armored samurai replicated the swordplay Simon had first seen demonstrated on a ship on the far side of the world.