by Diana Rubino
The fusillade of cannonball tore into Topaz's ranks before they had even heard the boom of the cannon. A second volley followed quickly, falling harmlessly to their rear. The third fell even further back.
"We must fire back! Why aren't we firing back?" Topaz implored Vogts, mist and blood dampening her cloak as men groaned around her.
He shook his head. "Our guns are not yet readied and in this fog we can't see where to shoot anyway," Vogts replied. "Henry's men are guessing. They hope we'll reveal our position by firing back. That's why the second salvo missed us. They fired over our heads that time. They'll keep trying different spots until we give ourselves away, or the mist lifts and they see us."
"This pea-souper won't give way for hours yet, I'll wager," Bridgeman observed.
"Then silence the injured and tell everyone to hold their fire and wait."
"Nay! We can't just sit here and be shot at while they range the field!" Topaz cried, grabbing Vogts' sleeve, nearly tearing the linen. "We must do something!"
"We must sit tight and keep our position mum!" Bridgeman answered for him.
"Barnet!" Topaz exclaimed, dropping her hand. "The Battle of Barnet!"
"Not again, Topaz!" Vogts cried wearily. "Leave the war to us. We'll serve you well."
Topaz ignored him and the words tumbled out. "At Barnet, the Yorkist artillery was set up under cover of the night. In error their line was misaligned. They were set up too close, right in front of the Lancastrians. All night long the Lancastrians put up a barrage of cannon, firing for all they were worth at where the Yorkists were supposed to be. By morning the Lancastrians' supplies were spent, overshot and wasted."
"What would you have us do, Lady Topaz?" Vogts said.
"Why, move forward, you puttock!" Bridgeman hissed. "In front of the line of his shortest fire. Set up our own guns there, right under their nose while they can't see us in the fog."
"Then what?" growled an exasperated Vogts.
"Why, just sit and wait," Bridgeman said. "While he wastes his balls and powder, we save ours and blast him to hell."
"So when the fog clears we have him, right at the end of our guns!" Vogts concluded, turning to the nodding Bridgeman.
"Aye, point blank!" he replied.
"Quite a surprise for Henry," Topaz gloated.
Vogts thought for a moment longer, then nodded. "It's worth a try. We can't stay here. Silence those men and let's go, at a cat's creep."
Under cover of the heavy mist, Topaz's army moved forward into a new position as quietly as they could, until they were immediately below Henry's guns. Salvo upon salvo flew over their heads, landing harmlessly behind them.
Slowly the heat built and the mist burned off until they could vaguely make out Henry's battery. As soon as Henry's gun carriages could be seen silhouetted against the horizon, Vogts ordered his men to open fire.
The first shot tore through Henry's ranks point-blank, with deadly accuracy. Henry's guns were smashed to smithereens, so that even if his gunners were still alive, they had nothing to fire.
Shocked, all of the King's men began reeling back from the battlefield as Vogts and his mercenaries charged at them unexpectedly.
Within a half hour, Topaz's army had taken the plateau and she raised her standard instead of Henry's. The heat and humidity continued to build as the armies faced each other.
"Look at the army he's assembled," Topaz said. "They're twice our size!"
"But we hold the plateau and all the cannon," said Bridgeman. "That offsets their numbers."
"Let them try and take the guns," Vogts said. "We'll cut them down as with a scythe."
Henry, now forced to the bottom of the hill and forced to deal with a worse position as well as the increasing sunshine and heat, rallied his men about him. He realized that ironically, he was now in the same position as Richard had been at Bosworth. His army had lost the high ground, their cannon had been destroyed, and every time they mounted an attack on the plateau, they would suffer heavy casualties.
He couldn't try to defeat Topaz's army. He had to do what Richard had done, lead a direct assault onto the enemy. If he could kill Topaz, he would be the winner.
The cannon pounded his troops unmercifully as he climbed the hill, but he still got within fifty yards before being driven back, actually exchanging blows with Vogts. With the clanging of mace, sword and shield all about them, neither men yielded, until finally Henry fell back with his troops.
Topaz watched as Henry gathered his men about him for another attack.
"He's strong as an ox, old Hal," said Vogts. "Almost had me down before I knew it. And where did he learn to curse? That raging bull did not sound very kingly to these ears."
"He paid dear for that charge," Bridgeman said. "Dead men litter the field, and they're mostly his."
"He'll come again!" Topaz warned.
Vogts turned to her, smiling. "I'm banking on it. We've found our range. If he ventures here again, he'll be sorry. Yet stay where he is and he'll be pounded all day long by our guns."
"Why doesn't he retreat?" Topaz said. "Why doesn't he set up for another fight closer to London?"
"If he were to run from a wench in the heat of battle, all England would disown him!" Bridgeman said. "I'll vow he'd rather die a king than live in exile."
"He's massing for another charge," said Vogts. "It should be over soon."
"Henry's doom is upon him!" Topaz shouted. "And look! The very sky itself has darkened in portent. It's as if the gates of Hell itself are opening now to receive him. Come Henry! Come upon my guns! Let me speed your journey!"
"'Tis black as night," Vogts said. "Yet here he comes, and what a rumble do they make as they charge upon the hill."
"Wait!" Topaz said, hushing them. "'Tis not their feet, 'tis thunder. Aye, Hell awaits ye, Henry. Your doom is upon you and I am to be queen!"
Henry and his men charged on under the black clouds. Topaz could barely make them out in the thick gloom. "Oh! How I have lived for this day!" she chanted. "The crown restored to the Plantagenet line at last!"
Suddenly an enormous fork of lightning tore through the heavens, immediately followed by the first volley of cannonballs. As the thunder and the roar of the cannon mingled, spatterings of rain began falling, developing into a torrential downpour. The wind rose, swirling the deluge all around them. By now the lightning was continuous and the thunderclaps drowned out the sounds of battle.
Some of the cannon started to sputter and misfire, allowing Henry and his men to come upon them once more. Fierce combat ensued but finally Henry and his troops were driven down the hill again.
As the sudden tempest passed, the sides regrouped, each taking stock of the other.
"How did we fare?" Topaz asked Vogts. "Their attack was so fierce. Why didn't they fall before our guns?"
"The tempest!" Vogts said. "It soaked our powder. It will not fire."
"The guns are useless now!" cried Bridgeman. "We've lost our advantage!"
"We came off badly in that last exchange," admitted Vogts. "We lost many men. We've got less than five thousand left. How can we fight him now? His force yet numbers nine or ten thousand!"
"He's right!" Bridgeman said, wringing out his cloak. "We can't survive another charge. The day is lost!"
"Me thought the storm told of Henry's doom," Topaz said. "'Tis I that am undone!"
"Lady Topaz, most of my men still can fight," Vogts said. "Come with me. We'll break through Henry's ranks and make a run for Scotland. I could use a woman like you, a lady of breeding with fire in her belly. I'll even marry you if you want. I've never seen your like before and I can't let you go now, not to certain death if Henry gets hold of you. I need you, Topaz!"
"Aye, go!" Bridgeman urged, a droplet of rain glistening in his eye, or was that a tear? "We can hold King Hal here for a while. Every one of us would gladly die for you. Mayhap you'll fight another day with more worthy retainers at your side and win the day. Go, make haste!"
She
shook her head. "No monarch since time began had worthier subjects," Topaz said. "I could not, nay, I will not leave you here when you have never needed me more. I cannot let my people suffer for my deeds whilst I bide my time in some foreign palace. No! This thing is at an end and I must save my people from Henry's retribution. He knows not that our guns won't fire and surely cannot relish another charge.
"Bridgeman! Ride down to the King under the white flag of truce. Give him my message. My forces will lay down their arms and I will surrender to him, with but one condition."
"Always one condition!" Vogts exclaimed. "Let me guess. You want him to switch with his fool Will Somers?"
Topaz smiled sadly. "Nay! Henry must let all my followers return in peace to their homes. If the King will give his royal bond that my people not be harassed, then he may do as he will with me."
CHAPTER SIX
Within the hour, Bridgeman returned. "The King accepts your surrender. He gives his word that all who fought with you may go their way unharmed, but they must lay down their arms and leave their horses."
Two of Henry's knights strode up the incline just as Topaz was taking her leave of Vogts and Bridgeman.
"They are coming to take me?"
Vogts nodded sadly. "Aye."
Topaz stood and stoically bade farewell to her loyal followers. "This is goodbye. Perhaps we shall meet again, perhaps not."
She held out her hand for each of the men, and they kissed it fondly.
"In the Tower, perhaps?" Bridgeman mumbled, "Although I'm in no hurry to go back there again."
Vogts slipped him a sideways glance, shaking his head. "What is it that you would have of her?" Vogts stood, facing the knights, his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
"Nay, Vogts, let them take me," Topaz said, approaching the knights in their hateful Tudor livery, straightening her skirts, drawing herself up to her full height. "Go now, but never forget me. Take care of Bridgeman for me."
"Aye, Lady Topaz, I shall heed your wishes. You will always be queen in my heart."
"Don't worry about me," Bridgeman spoke up. "I can take care of myself."
The two men turned and joined the ranks of the defeated army, already streaming away from the plateau.
"His Majesty the King has sent us to take you into his custody," one of the knights demanded.
She stepped forward silently as each knight took Topaz by an arm and dragged her down the hill. It was there that she and Henry Tudor met face to face for the first time.
Their eyes met for but a second. He leered at her shapely figure in a way that would degrade her the most, ogling the breasts spilling out of her low-cut bodice, then turned away. "To the Tower with her, to the same cell her moronic father rotted in!" he thundered, and stalked away.
Topaz entered the Tower and the guards led her across the grounds. They passed the timber-framed Queen's House, and she looked up at the small window under the gabled roof in the north wing. There she caught two black eyes staring at her, following her as she walked. It was Anne Boleyn. She knew it.
As she continued to walk, their eyes locked and the two heads nodded in unison. Topaz held her head high, determined to exit this prison alive, not carried out headless in a coffin as would the unfortunate soul up there in the confines of her quarters.
Then she saw that they were heading to the far corner of the Queen's House, in the direction of the adjacent Bell Tower, where she'd spent the first four years of her life, where they'd dragged her father, limping, to his death. It was the place where she'd been born, and where she was felt she was now fated to die, coming full circle in her short life.
She held back, and the guards nudged her along. They reached the top of the winding staircase and she halted. She breathed the musty air. It was still there, it hadn't escaped; it invaded her lungs, the dampness mingled with bodies, urine and excrement, sweat and misery. It connected with her brain, sending her reeling back in time, back, back, and instantly it was as if she'd never left, and as if she was still a young child, young and so uncomprehending, as he father had been led away to his death….
Sabine shivered violently. The dampness chilled her bones through the threadbare shawl. Clasping her daughter's tiny hand, she climbed the winding stone steps of the Bell Tower. Weak light spilled from arrow slits cut into the wall.
When they finally reached the top, they huddled within an alcove. Sabine warmed Topaz's fingers with ragged breaths.
The slam of a door crashed and echoed like thunder. They jumped, startled.
The scraping of chains over the floor grew closer. Two burly guards emerged from the shadows, dragging a prisoner. Bleeding from his mouth, he whimpered in pain.
He stumbled and fell to his knees, inches from Sabine's feet. Their eyes locked and she froze in terror. Her mouth tried to form words that just would not come.
He shook his head briefly as if to warn her away. She hid Topaz behind her skirts as she choked off her own protests, sobs.
The guards violently jerked Edward Plantagent, the young Earl of Warwick, back to his feet and shoved him forward. Their swords clinked against their belt buckles, their keys swung from metal rings. They yanked their prisoner toward the stairs, oblivious to the woman's wide-eyed horror. Watching him suffering like this tore at her heart, rendering her speechless with grief.
But her daughter was not so silent. "Papa!" she shrieked, and bolted after the bruised, bleeding young man.
"No, Topaz!" Sabine clutched her daughter's arm. "Stay back!"
"Where are they taking Papa?" Her cries echoed off the stone walls. The torches in their sconces pulsated in unison with her demand.
"I know not, little one. I know not."
But Sabine did know. This was the day she had dreaded most. Her beloved Edward, imprisoned in this foul, stinking prison by the cruel King Henry, was going to die.
As the dark maw of the stairwell finally swallowed her husband, Sabine grasped her rounded belly and slid to the floor, overcome by her heart-rending sobs.
Seeing her mother like this, Topaz began to weep too. Something was horribly wrong. She couldn't fully understand what. All she knew was that her mother's sobs and the look on her father's face as he had been led away would haunt her for the rest of her days.
Topaz remembered it all in a rush. She heard the clank of the chains stinging her ears and saw the young man, the guards' inaudible shouts as they rushed by, felt her mother's hand grow clammy and trembling around hers, felt the panic pierce her, and it all happened at once, and it all happened again...
"No! No!" she shrieked, breaking away from the startled guards, tumbling down the stairs, her hands scraping along the rough stone, tripping over her feet, slamming into the stone alcove, gasping for air and light shining through the narrow arrow slit. They caught her and dragged her back up the steps, one guard yanking her along by the hair, tearing her scalp.
"No! Not here! Any place but here!"
Her cries echoed against the stone walls and died within them, confined forever within them.
They shoved her into a musty airless room and she hit the splintered wooden floor with a bang. The iron gates clanged shut and the guards shuffled away.
She felt something mushy under the rushes but she didn't dare look down in the dim light that filtered in through a narrow slit in the cell wall that served as a window. She simply huddled into the corner and stared straight up at the peaked ceiling, counting the beams, one, two, three, four, five, where they peaked and into the wood, she could see, someone's initials were carved. How they ever got up there, she'd never know. A crossbeam hanging about four feet below the ceiling was crudely carved and full of holes.
If only I had a rope, she thought...
Even the fireplace was closed off with a rusty spiked gate. From where she lay on the floor she could see into the great square black void of infinity. Not a speck of blue sky or sunlight could be espied from beyond the thick wall of what was probably centuries of ashes, cooking smells and th
e remains of fat and grease.
She finally rose, stretched, as it was the only pleasurable thing she could do, and walked over to the window. The leaded glass was dusty. Some of the smudges were bloody.
She tried to push on the iron latch, but it wouldn't budge. Straining to see, she could glimpse the Thames, a stream of greenish-gray in the distance. The corner pane of the window was cracked. She thought of pushing on it—at least she could reach out with her hand and know there was a world out there. She decided she'd try it later in the dark.
She walked back to the fireplace and jumped up on the ledge next to it, cold and rough, made out of a solid block of stone. She reached up and ran her fingers over the smooth wooden beams. A splinter caught in her finger and she yanked it out. At least she could exercise, keep her blood flowing.
