The King's Man (The Order of the White Boar Book 2)
Page 1
The
King’s
Man
Book 2 of The Order of the White Boar
Praise for Book 1
‘A wonderful work of historical fiction . . . altogether a very enjoyable book for both children and adults.’
Isabel Green, Ricardian Bulletin of the Richard III Society
‘This engaging and exciting story has the power to captivate readers of any age . . . extremely well researched and a pleasure to read.’
Wendy Johnson, member of the Looking for Richard Project
‘A really gripping historical novel . . . well written, vivid and absorbing.’
E. Flanagan, author of Eden Summer
‘Finally! A book written for a younger audience, which brings to life the just and fair leader that Richard III truly was.’
Richard III’s Loyal Supporters
Also by Alex Marchant
The Order of the White Boar
The
King’s
Man
Book 2 of The Order of the
White Boar
Alex Marchant
First published 2018
Copyright © 2018 Alex Marchant
The right of Alex Marchant to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publications may be reproduced, stored in or introduced to a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright holder.
Cover illustration: Oliver Bennett, morevisual.me
To
The families of the Hillsborough 96,
who know what it’s like to have had history rewritten in the present day…
And to my friends of long centuries past, Angela and Kate –
they know why
Cast of characters
The Code of the Order of the White Boar
1 Broken Rendezvous
2 Ambush
3 Stony Stratford
4 The Road to London
5 ‘A Bag of Snakes’
6 St Paul’s Cross
7 To be a King
8 Men from the North
9 Rebellion
10 The Watch
11 Return of the King
12 The Visitor
14 The Light Fades
15 ‘Still the Chivalrous Knight’
16 Dangerous Days
17 The Camp
18 The Eve of Battle
19 Blood Moon
20 View from a Tower
21 Milestones
22 Old Friends
23 ‘Ever My Uncle’s Man’
24 A New Morning
25 Lowestoft
26 The Score
Author’s note
About the author
Translations of coded text
Cast of characters
The Order of the White Boar
Matthew Wansford, a page
Alys Langdown, ward of Queen Elizabeth
Roger de Kynton, a page
Edward, son of Richard, Duke of Gloucester*
Elen, companion to Alys
On the road to London
Edward V, King of England*
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, uncle to King Edward V, brother to King Edward IV, Protector of England*
Henry, Duke of Buckingham, a cousin, husband to Queen Elizabeth’s sister *
Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, uncle to King Edward V, a brother to Queen Elizabeth*
Richard, Lord Grey, older half-brother to Edward V, Queen Elizabeth’s younger son by her first husband*
Francis, Lord Lovell, Duke Richard’s friend and companion*
Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Duke Richard’s companion*
Master John Kendall, Duke Richard’s secretary*
At court
Anne, Duchess of Gloucester, wife to Duke Richard*
Elizabeth Woodville, Queen to late King Edward IV (later Dame Grey)*
Elizabeth, her daughter, elder sister to Edward V*
Richard, Duke of York, her son, younger brother to Edward V*
Marquess of Dorset, oldest half-brother to Edward V, Queen Elizabeth’s elder son by her first husband*
Sir Edward Woodville, a brother to Queen Elizabeth*
John Howard, Duke of Norfolk*
Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk, his wife*
Lord William Hastings, King Edward IV’s friend and Chamberlain of England*
Margaret Beaufort, Lady Stanley, mother to Henry Tudor*
Thomas, Lord Stanley, her third husband*
Sir William Stanley, his brother*
Lady Alice Tyrell, wife to Sir James*
Walter, Lord Soulsby, a knight
Ralph Soulsby, his son, betrothed to Alys Langdown
Hugh Soulsby, nephew to Lord Soulsby, a squire
In London
Master Ashley, a merchant
Mistress Ashley, his wife
Master Lyndsey, his steward
Master Hardyng, his secretary
Master de Vries, his print master
Simon, his apprentice
Friar Shaw (or Shaa), a preacher*
At Middleham Castle
Sir James Tyrell, Master of the Henchmen*
Doctor Frees, tutor to Edward and the pages
Master Fleete, the weapons master
Master Petyt, the dancing master
Master Reynold, the horsemaster
Master Gygges, the chief huntsman
In York
John Wansford, a merchant
John Wansford, his son
Frederick Wansford, his son*
Known to history…
Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland*
John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, nephew to Duke Richard*
Henry Tudor, ‘Earl of Richmond’, Lancastrian claimant to the throne*
Lord Strange, son to Thomas, Lord Stanley*
Sir Robert Brackenbury, Constable of the Tower*
In the past...
Edward IV, late King of England*
Richard, Duke of York, father of Edward IV*
George, Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward IV*
Richard, Earl of Warwick, cousin to Edward IV, known as the Kingmaker*
* Historical figures
The Code of the Order of the White Boar
a b c d e f g h I j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z
u v w x y z a b c d e f g h I j k l m n o p q r s t Monday
r s t u v w x y z a b c d e f g h I j k l m n o p q Tuesday
o p q r s t u v w x y z a b c d e f g h I j k l m n Wednesday
l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z a b c d e f g h I j k Thursday
i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z a b c d e f g h Friday
f g h I j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z a b c d e Saturday
c d e f g h I j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z a b Sunday
Where coded items in the text are marked with an asterisk (*), a translation can be found at the end of the book, after ‘About the author’.
1 Broken Rendezvous
The first warning of their approach was the faintest rumble as of distant thunder on a summer’s day. The sun shone still, though low in the sky, throwing long shadows across the cobbles of the square. Its last rays touched the tip of the ancient stone market cross to gold.
As the noise reached us, my master raised his head, turning it first one way then another, like a boar at bay hearing the winding of a huntsman’s horn. At a word, his companions melted away behind, leavin
g him standing alone at the very edge of the inn yard. Clad simply in riding gear of deepest mourning, his slight figure moved not a muscle as we waited.
The far-off grumble grew into drumming, then on into hammering – the hubbub funnelling through the narrow street opposite, cannoning off the buildings crouching to either side. I could tell now it was the sound of hooves, of many dozens of horses, galloping along the highroad that cut through this town.
Deep within my chest, my heart beat harder, in echo of those thudding hooves. My breath was racing too. My hands, clammier by the second, gripped my hound’s collar and I whispered to her to stay close. Surely even her sharp ears could not hear me above the rising tide of sound, but she lifted her shaggy red head as my grasp tightened, her deep brown eyes gazing imploringly up at me.
No other movement broke the stillness about us, save the flap, flap of my master’s dark red and blue banner as it caught the wind, the shining white boar upon it rearing as though brought to life by the sparking tension in the air. The Duke and his gentlemen remained motionless, though each of his companions, I now saw, clasped the hilt of his still-sheathed sword.
The ground underfoot quivered at the coming squall. Murrey’s ears pricked, her nose trembled, and perhaps only a minute after its first herald, the storm surge burst from the mouth of the main street out on to the wide market square.
I flinched at the shock of its arrival, but my master, feet firmly planted, did not stir as the company of horsemen flooded towards him across the cobbles. Two or three score, heavily armed, chainmail glinting, hooves thundering, scarlet and white standard streaming on high in the sharpening breeze. Galloping as though all the devils of hell were at their heels, heedless of the townsfolk who scattered out of their path, clutching at their children and possessions to keep them from harm.
The leading horses checked their headlong rush and clattered to a halt only feet in front of the Duke, blowing hard, their flanks heaving under their costly trappings. The fair-haired man on the foremost stared down for a moment after he reined back his mount, his blue eyes expressionless, before touching the end of his whip to his forehead in salute.
‘Greetings, Your Grace,’ he began, his breathing rapid after his swift approach. ‘I beg you to forgive our late arrival. The King has gone on before to Stony Stratford, and will sleep there tonight. He bid me return to greet you most cordially and await your pleasure.’
This man who spoke so courteously to my master Duke Richard was unknown to me. But a murmur of recognition had rippled through our company as he and his party had swept across the square. Beside me, Master Kendall, the Duke’s secretary, breathed the newcomer’s name, incredulous.
‘Earl Rivers! And he dare show his face here without the King?’
The Earl swung down from his fine-boned mount with the ease of a much younger man, and I recalled that this brother of the Queen was spoken of as once the finest jouster in the land. He bowed now to the Duke, a memory of his sister in his elegant features and light-coloured hair. It was perhaps no more than two months since I had come face to face with Her Grace – yet it seemed a lifetime ago. All was different now.
Duke Richard received the Earl with equal courtesy. But did I detect in his next words a trace of the anger that had surfaced only minutes before, when we had ridden at a leisurely pace through the streets of this evening-quiet town – and found no rendezvous with the new King and his escort as arranged?
‘To Stony Stratford? Why so? We were to meet with him here in Northampton.’
The Earl’s response was smooth, as though well rehearsed.
‘So you and I had agreed, Your Grace. But it was in our nephew Edward’s mind that there would not be lodgings enough here for all his men and Your Grace’s. Therefore he thought it best to move his retinue on to make way for yours. Our manor at Stony Stratford is well provisioned for a large party, and he rests there now with his brother, Lord Grey, and other companions.’
A hiss issued through Master Kendall’s teeth at this speech, heard only by those of us nearby. Several paces ahead of us, Duke Richard’s expression did not change.
‘It is late now for you to rejoin him tonight, my lord. Will you and your gentlemen take lodgings here in the town and dine with us at our inn?’
The Earl bowed once more, and soon grooms and serving men were scurrying this way and that, leading horses and carrying baggage, until only the two noblemen and their closest companions remained beneath the swinging tavern sign. The Duke stood aside with grave civility to allow the Earl to enter first. I brought up the rear, behind Lord Lovell, Master Ratcliffe and the other gentlemen, sticking close to Master Kendall, as had been my habit over recent days.
Since news of the death of old King Edward had reached us, I had dined at his brother Duke Richard’s table often in such inns, on our journey south from Middleham to meet and escort the new King to his coronation in London. Now, though, I found a stool in a corner and my hound pup, Murrey, threaded her lithe body between its stubby legs before settling down, her pointed muzzle resting on her outstretched forepaws. From there I watched the tavernmaster and his womenfolk bustling about setting places with their best pewter and platters, and listened while the gentlemen exchanged pleasantries and seated themselves at the richly furnished oak table.
This evening I knew my place, knew that the talk around the high table would not be of a kind for mere boys like me to join in. Yet, as Duke Richard and the Earl raised a toast to the new King in the innkeeper’s best wine, I was reminded that young King Edward himself was but a boy, a younger one even than I – and a boy I had once had the pleasure of riding alongside for a whole afternoon last Christmas-tide.
I cannot deny the pang of disappointment that had struck me on finding he was not in the town when we arrived. Had I been wrong to hope we could take up our friendship again as we had left it on Twelfth Night? Yet so much had changed since then. I had been dismissed from my knight’s training at Middleham Castle and had to leave behind my friends, Alys, Roger, Elen, and of course, little Ed, the Duke’s son. And he – he had lost his father, the old King. Perhaps that day of the ride had been their last together. And now he was about to take on the heavy burden of kingship.
The solemn oath that I had sworn at York Minster came back to me now. Reunited with my old comrades in the choir of that great cathedral of my home city – almost a year after my shameful expulsion – we had sung the requiem Mass for the dead King. The last notes of my solo rose into the heights of that holy space as though accompanying his soul to heaven.
Then the most important men of the city and country of York had knelt as one behind his brother, Duke Richard of Gloucester. Following his lead, all there swore fealty to the new King – the Duke’s nephew, Edward, the fifth of that name. The raw emotion of their massed voices, resonant with loyal intent, dashed against me like a storm-wave as I stood near the altar, swamping the sound of my own words. And I had been, oh, so proud of my countrymen.
Another grey morning farewell, to my family and the other townsfolk, then we were journeying again, three hundred strong now with the men who had joined us from my home town.
Always southwards we travelled. To Pontefract’s castle with its soaring tower, to Nottingham’s crouching on its crag above the River Trent.
Hourly we were met by messengers from every corner of the realm. From Earl Rivers travelling with the new King towards London from his estates in the west. From the Earl of Northumberland with his vow to hold the northern marches. From Henry, Duke of Buckingham, journeying out of Wales to join us. And from Lord Hastings – from Lord Hastings in London, always with a warning.
For in the capital events were moving fast, events I didn’t understand. But from the little I heard, and the dark shadows gathering on Duke Richard’s face, it was clear the news was not good.
Queen Elizabeth’s family, the Woodvilles, were gaining strength, becoming bolder in their claims to take the reins of power now that her husband was dead. An
d the old King’s chamberlain and adviser, Lord Hastings – never the Queen’s friend – feared for his position, and perhaps even for his life. The failure of our rendezvous with the young King and the Earl would hardly soothe those fears.
Yet here in this small midlands town, the company of gentlemen passed a pleasant meal. The tavernkeeper himself was busy about them, serving with his own hands the tastiest dishes his kitchen could provide. As the evening wore on, and more wine was poured and more toasts drunk, chatter and laughter spilled from the gentlemen. Duke Richard, however, barely even smiled. Between the toasts, he did not touch his wine, and from my vantage point, I watched him watching the Earl. His lordship’s face was soon flushed in the heat of the room, but he also drank little.
No more than an hour after we sat down to our supper, another tumult of horses’ hooves and jangling harness and men’s voices erupted outside the shuttered windows. A serving man rushed in, bowing, to announce, ‘His Grace, the Duke of Buckingham.’
Duke Richard and Earl Rivers were already on their feet as the burly, haughty man I had first encountered on Twelfth Night made his entrance, flanked by several companions, each as weary and mud-flecked as the other.
Duke Richard stepped forward to clasp the newcomer’s hand.
‘Welcome, Harry,’ he said in greeting.
The warmth in his voice surprised me. There had seemed little liking between the two men at his brother’s court at Yuletide. But then I remembered young Edward’s words to me about his aunt’s husband on that winter afternoon: ‘I don’t think my mother likes him very much.’
Had Duke Richard found an ally against the Queen and her family in these difficult times? One might be needed, if all that Lord Hastings reported was true. Indeed a certain coolness marked the embrace of the Earl and the new arrival, but my lord Buckingham readily joined the party. The inn servants brought in extra chairs and lighted candles, while the innkeeper was tasked with finding ever more plates of delicious food.