by Tony Riches
Richard had grown a dark beard which he kept neatly trimmed. He stroked it as he wondered what his sister was asking for. He made a quick calculation. The little girl would be about five years old now. He guessed Cecily needed his help to find her daughter a suitable husband. His father had arranged their marriages when they were not much older and paid a significant dowry to secure the deal. Cecily was a wealthy woman and would be thinking of the future. Perhaps she was intending to remarry. Richard frowned at the thought.
Anne arrived with her maid, who began lighting candles from a long taper she carried. The last of the winter sun soon fell below the horizon and the room was growing darker. They waited until the maid had finished and left, then Anne watched as Richard carefully broke the seal and spread the parchment out on the table so they could both read it. They both gasped in amazement. Cecily’s only daughter, their young niece, was dead from a fever.
‘She was so full of life when we last saw her!’ Anne wiped a tear from her eye and reread the neatly handwritten letter. ‘Poor Cecily.’
Richard put his arm around Anne’s shoulder and held her close. ‘It is the worst tragedy for my sister, her only child.’
‘We must do what we can to help her.’
Richard pointed to the letter. You realise what she is saying, Anne? You are the new Countess of Warwick.’
Anne thought for a moment, sadness still in her eyes. ‘And you the Earl of Warwick. This changes everything, doesn’t it?’
‘I must send a message to my father. Annie was his favourite granddaughter.’
‘Your mother, as well.’ She put a comforting hand on Richard’s shoulder. ‘You must tell her.’
‘Yes, of course. Will you find her for me? I need to think about this.’
Anne went to look for his mother while Richard paced the room, wondering if he should ride to the north to find his father. Rumours of fighting at the border with Scotland had reached them and Richard’s father had taken a small army of men to investigate. That was over two weeks ago and nothing had been heard from him since. Richard had said nothing to Anne or his mother, although he was concerned. His father would be quite a prize for the Scottish raiders if they could capture him. He decided to go in search of him, taking enough men for safety and travelling light for speed.
Richard galloped as fast as he dared in the darkness towards the flickering orange glow lighting up the night skyline. The acrid smell of smoke reached him on the light breeze. They had been taken by surprise again, despite the extra guards and sentries. It had taken over a month to find his father. Instead of returning home as planned, he was now supporting his father’s forces at the West March, as the king had appointed him and his father joint wardenship two years before.
Richard galloped towards the flames, followed by his men. He had been riding out to patrol the border many times with his father. He had yet to be involved in any fighting, although they had seen a few remote farmsteads which had been destroyed, allegedly by the Percy family.
By the time they reached the village Richard could see they were too late to do anything to help. He looked down the muddy track that ran through the village. A row of simple crofts built from local stone led to an open area that was probably used on market days. A dog ran towards him, barking as he approached, startling his horse. He calmed him with soothing words and rode towards the scene of the fire.
A dejected family with several small children stood by the ruin that had been their home. The roof was completely gone and the walls had fallen down. Only the blackened stones of the hearth still stood. He saw the few possessions they had tried to save were in a charred heap.
Richard dismounted and walked over to speak to them.
‘I’m sorry we didn’t get here quicker.’ He glanced back at the still smouldering building. ‘I will send men to help rebuild your house.’
He reached into his purse and gave the family a few silver coins which they accepted gratefully. He realised his gift was probably more money than they had seen in their lives.
More people emerged from their houses and several young men of the village watched Richard with interest. He turned to them. ‘Did any of you see who did this?’
One of the men stepped forward. ‘Percy supporters, my lord.’
‘Not the Scots?’
‘No, my lord.’ The man seemed as if he knew more than he was saying.
Richard was wondering what to do when there was a shout from the other side of the village.
‘The grain store! They’ve set fire to the grain store!’
The villagers kept their precious grain harvest in a large wooden barn, set back from the single track that ran through the houses. A burning arrow was sticking from the dry thatch of the roof and the flames were already spreading. Richard saw fresh sparks spitting into the dark sky as the fire took hold. There was no way to see where the arrow had come from. Richard guessed the villagers were right.
Even as he watched, a second burning arrow flashed through the night and thudded into the roof of the barn close to the first. Whoever fired the arrows couldn’t be far away. His father had told him the Percy family recruited experienced archers who had fought in France. They were probably already making their escape.
‘Over there, to the right!’ One of his men shouted and pointed into the trees.
Richard hesitated for a second. He had to make sure they saved the grain. He turned to Tully, who was close behind him.
‘Take some men and see if you can find anyone. Take them alive if you can!’
Tully selected some soldiers before leaping back onto his horse.
‘Good luck to you!’ He shouted after them as they galloped off.
Richard was glad to have someone he could trust. If there was any chance of catching whoever was responsible Tully would do it. In the three years since he was appointed as Richard’s squire Tully had become Richard’s right-hand man. Most importantly, Tully had won the respect of the men and earned his place at Richard’s side through his skill and actions in the border fighting.
‘Quickly, we need water!’ He shouted to the remaining soldiers, who rushed into the nearest houses looking for anything they could use. Some started work at the village well, hauling up buckets as fast as they could, while others filled theirs from the large horse trough close to the grain store. The villagers realised what they needed to do and formed a human chain, passing buckets along the line from the well to the barn, handing back empty buckets for refilling. They struggled to throw the water high enough to reach the roof of the barn. When it reached the flames there was a hiss of steam.
Richard looked at the smoke billowing from the entrance to the barn. ‘We need to work faster!’ He shouted.
There were now dozens of villagers working with Richard’s men. They soon emptied the horse trough. The well was old and they were taking too long to raise enough water. The flames were now lighting up the night, fanned by the breeze. Bitter tasting smoke made their eyes water as they struggled to put out the blaze. Richard could feel the heat on his face.
‘It’s no use, my lord.’ One of the villagers said the words they all knew were true.
Richard could hear the precious grain beginning to crackle and spit in the blistering heat. He refused to give up.
‘Open the doors.’ He looked into the soot-blackened faces of the villagers. ‘We’ll save what we can!’
They followed his order. Two young men threw open the huge barn doors and everyone with buckets began desperately filling them with grain. The chain of people passing buckets were now adding to a growing heap of grain a safe distance from the barn.
Richard watched as they worked in the darkness and then made a decision. ‘That’s enough!’ He beckoned for them to stand clear. ‘We can’t risk any more.’
The villagers stood in despair as they saw the rest of their precious grain being lost to the flames. It had been a good harvest and there would have been enough to see them all through until the spring. Now the
y would go hungry.
Richard noticed one of the women from the village looking at him. Although her dress was made of the same coarse wool they all wore, something about her caught his attention. He walked towards her, away from the flames and heat of the barn, now burning out of control. As he came closer she ducked back inside the small doorway of her house, then came back out with a pewter tankard of ale, which she handed to Richard. His throat was parched from the smoke and exertion and the ale was refreshing and potent.
‘Thank you.’ He studied the woman more closely. She was more attractive and younger than he had first thought. Her long dark hair was loose over her shoulders and her eyes sparkled in the light from the fire.
‘What is your name?’
‘Megan, my lord.’ Her voice had the soft accent of the northern villagers.
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘I do, my lord.’ She held his gaze.
There was a shout behind him and Richard’s hand swiftly moved to the hilt of his sword before he recognised the sound of Tully’s voice. He drained the tankard and handed it back to Megan. They both watched as Tully and his men rode into the village, one of the horses carrying a man with his hands bound with rope.
‘You’ve caught one then?’
Tully seemed pleased with himself. ‘Wasn’t easy, my lord.’
‘Was he carrying a bow?’
Tully shook his head. ‘Not when we caught up with him.’
Richard cursed. It would have been the proof he needed. ‘Bring him here.’
The prisoner was dragged from his horse and made to kneel in front of Richard.
Richard frowned at him. ‘Are you responsible for these fires?’
The man refused to look at him and made no move to answer.
Richard tried again. ‘Are you working for the Percy family?’
The man looked down at the ground at the mention of the Percy name. It was going to be hard to persuade him to talk. At least Tully had captured him alive. He would give them the evidence they needed, eventually. Richard noticed the young girl named Megan was watching to see what he would do.
‘Untie him.’
One of Tully’s men stepped forward and loosened the rope binding the kneeling man’s wrists.
Richard looked down into the man’s eyes. The man seemed in fear of his life.
‘I want to see your hands. It should be easy enough to tell if you were an archer.’
The man moved like a striking adder, so fast no one could stop him. Snatching a knife from one of the men who was supposed to be guarding him, he grabbed Megan and held the blade to her throat.
‘Stand back!’
Richard instinctively drew his sword. He saw the desperate look in the man’s eyes. ‘Let the girl go. I’ll see to it you have a fair trial.’
The man gave a humourless laugh. ‘Get back! All of you!’ His eyes darted around as he tried to decide his best route of escape.
There was a crash of splintering wood as the burning barn finally collapsed in a shower of sparks, new flames shooting high into the night sky. The man dropped his knife and fell backwards, both hands clutching at his throat. Megan pulled away from him and looked in shock at the crossbow bolt sticking through the man’s neck. It had penetrated right up to the feathered flight at such close range.
Richard glanced back to where Tully stood. ‘You could have hit the girl!’
Tully slung his crossbow back over his shoulder. ‘I saw my chance.’ He looked across at Megan. ‘In case you are wondering, that was the first time I’ve killed a man.’
She seemed pale and shocked but as far as he could tell she was unharmed.
Richard returned his sword to its scabbard and turned to her. ‘Have you any more ale?’
Megan led him into her house. Richard looked around the sparsely furnished room, taking in the details of her life. The wooden shutters over the small windows were closed, so the only light was from the red glow of the fire in the stone hearth. A spinning wheel stood next to balls of yarn and a sack of new wool. Bunches of lavender and other dried herbs hung from the solid wooden ceiling beams, giving off their delicate scent. A thick sheepskin rug on the earthen floor added a little comfort and he could see a bed covered with woollen throws. The aroma of freshly baked bread made him feel hungry, as it had been a while since he had eaten.
Megan closed the door behind him and slid a heavy piece of wood into place to lock it from the inside. The significance of her action answered the question that had been in Richard’s mind since he first saw her. She threw another log on the hot coals in the fireplace and it immediately burst into bright flames, taking the coolness from the small room. She poured him another tankard of ale. It tasted warm and had a bitter tang of hops Richard found refreshing.
‘You live here alone?’ He looked at her appraisingly.
‘Yes.’ She seemed to be considering whether to tell him something.
She moved closer to him and they looked into each other’s eyes. Richard felt the powerful connection he sensed when he first saw her. His mother taught him to believe some things happen because they are meant to. He believed her now. He put down the tankard and unfastened the silver buckle on his sword belt. Carefully removing it, he laid the sword to one side.
Megan put her arms around him. She held him close and they stood in silence. The fire crackled as the flames discovered sap in the burning log. Richard felt the soft warmth of her body and sensed her respond as he gently caressed her back.
She whispered in his ear. ‘I want you.’
Richard stroked her long hair. It felt like silk as it ran through his fingers. He kissed the soft skin of her neck, then found her lips and kissed her again, longer this time. He felt intoxicated by her wild energy and realised he had been hoping for this from the moment he first saw her. There was no question he was abusing his power over her though. If anything she had a strange power over him.
She took his hand without speaking and led him to the wooden chair by the fireside. Gesturing for him to sit, she knelt at his feet and pulled off one of his black leather riding boots. She gave him a mischievous look as she threw it to one side, before pulling at the second. Richard wore a padded velvet doublet, laced at the front. Megan worked out how to undo the fastening and took it from him, then pulled his heavy cotton undershirt over his head. She ran her hands through the dark hair on his bare chest, tracing the scar he had gained learning to fight with a sword. He liked the feel of her slender fingers as she caressed the hard muscles of his torso.
Richard turned her round and untied the back of her woollen dress. She was naked underneath. He reached inside and caressed the smoothness of her back before pulling the top down to expose her breasts. Her skin was pale where it hadn’t seen the sun and contrasted with the brown of her neck and arms.
She pulled away from him and led him to the bed, gently pushing him down so he lay on his back looking up at her. She gently pulled off the rest of his clothes and her eyes flashed in the candlelight as she loosened her dress and let it fall to the floor. He pulled her towards him and kissed her again, longer this time, feeling dizzy with desire. Her touch told him what she wanted him to do.
Chapter 6 - Spring 1451
Richard and his men rode hard from Middleham Castle in the glorious spring sunshine, the hooves of their horses thundering as they galloped north. He travelled light for speed, with a dozen of his best mounted archers and his squire Luke Tully. He felt the familiar sense of exhilaration and anticipation as the Northumberland village came into view. Richard visited Megan as often as his duties on the northern border allowed; although this time he had to wait much longer than usual. As well as the tour of his new estates in South Wales, he was spending more time in the Great Council of Westminster.
The people of the remote village had been cautiously wary of him until he won their respect by helping with rebuilding the barn. He brought in expert stone masons and carpenters, who made sure the barn was built to last, with
proper foundations and a slate roof to replace the ruined thatch. He also paid for a new tavern to be built on the outskirts of the village where his men could stay in some comfort.
The tavern had now become the focal point for the remote village, a meeting place and also where business was done with people from neighbouring villages. They rode up to the stables at the rear of the tavern now and dismounted. Richard patted his horse on the neck and handed the reins to Luke Tully.
‘How long are we staying, my lord?’
‘The men deserve a rest.’ Richard stared up at the sun, trying to judge the time. ‘It’s less than a day’s ride. We will stay here tomorrow and be ready to leave early the following morning.’
He glanced up the stony lane to where he could see Megan’s cottage in the distance. ‘You can stock up with provisions.’ He smiled at Tully, glad to have someone he could trust. ‘You know where you can find me if I’m needed.’
Tully grinned. ‘We’ll be here if you need us, my lord.’
Richard walked up the lane through the middle of the village, nodding to people who recognised him. Chickens wandered freely, searching for spilt grain on the path and a tethered goat, with udders ready for milking, watched him approach. The door to Megan’s cottage was propped open to let the fresh air in. He ducked under the low lintel and went inside. Megan was making bread on the oak table. Her long, dark hair was tied back and she wore a white cotton apron. An earthenware vase of yellow daffodils brightened the small room. Megan looked up in happy surprise as he entered.
‘Richard!’ She wiped flour from her hands on her apron and hugged him. ‘You should have sent a messenger ahead. I would have been ready for you.’
‘I rode here as fast as any messenger could.’ He unbuckled his belt and placed his sword in the corner of the room, then took her in his arms and looked into her eyes. ‘I’ve missed you, Megan.’
