‘My lady,’ said the Prince, ‘what of my father?’

‘They have your father with them. Pray God he is safe. Everything is changed now. This is victory, my son.’

Lord Clifford came into the tent. He was clearly excited.

‘My lady, we have found the King. His servant Howe is without. He has been sent here by Lord Bonvile.’

‘Bring Howe to me without delay.’

The King’s servant was on his knees before the Queen.

‘My lady, I can take you to his tent. He is guarded by Lord Bonvile and Sir Thomas Kyriell.’

‘Traitors,’ she cried. ‘They have always been my enemies.’

‘They have guarded the King and saved him from the soldiers who might have harmed him, my lady. The King has promised them mercy for their services.’

‘Take me to him...at once,’ commanded the Queen.

Henry staggered to his feet.

‘Margaret,’ he cried.

She ran to him and embraced him. ‘Thank God you are alive. Oh, Henry...it has been so many months...But it is over now.’

‘Margaret, to see you like this...’

‘Victorious,’ she cried. ‘Our enemies in flight!’

‘Now there must be peace.’

‘Peace when we have what we want. See here is your son. Edward, your father.’

Henry embraced his son and there were tears in his eyes as he contemplated the boy.

Margaret was surveying Sir Thomas Kyriell and Lord Bonvile who had stood back while the reunion was going on. Her expression hardened. These men were the enemy. They had fought with Yorkists against their King.

‘My lord Clifford,’ she said, ‘call guards and put these men under arrest.’

Lord Bonvile said: ‘The King has promised us free pardon.’

She ignored him.

‘My lord,’ began Bonvile, appealing to Henry.

Henry said: ‘Yes, these men were my good friends. They stayed with me when they might have escaped. I have promised them their freedom.’

The Queen nodded. ‘Even so, we must put them under restraint.’

The guards came in and took Lord Bonvile and Sir Thomas away.

‘Now,’ said Margaret smiling, ‘you should reward those who have served you well. First your son. You must bestow a knighthood on him; and there are others who have served our cause with extreme gallantry. Will you, my lord, at this very moment honour those whom I shall have brought to you?’

‘Willingly,’ said the King.


* * *

Henry was resting in his tent. He was very feeble still and he needed rest if he was to endure the journey to London which it seemed necessary to endure. Margaret knew that what she must do was march to London, take the capital and set up the King in his rightful place so that he could rule and all should know-that he had a strong heir to follow him. The proclamation which had decreed that Henry should rule as long as he lived and then be followed by the Duke of York must be overruled and declared null and void.

She was glad of the King’s weakness for that gave her the chance to do what she had intended to do, and from the moment she had set foot in his tent she had known that if the King had been aware of that he would have tried to prevent her.

She had set up a court room and in it was the block and the executioner with his axe; beside her on a dais sat her son.

Sir Thomas Kyriell and Lord Bonvile were brought in. They had fought with the enemy; they had brought their men to serve against the King. They were traitors to the anointed. And what was the fate of traitors? Death was the answer.

‘The King promised us pardon if we stayed to guard him,’ said Lord Bonvile.

‘There is no pardon for traitors,’ said the Queen coldly. ‘You shall reap your rewards, my lord. Justice shall be done.’

She turned to her son. ‘What punishment shall be meted out to these two traitors, my son?’

Well primed and eager to show he had learned his lessons well, the Prince cried out: ‘They should lose their heads.’

The Queen smiled. ‘Judgment has been given,’ she said. ‘Let the sentence be carried out without delay.’

The Prince looked on wide-eyed as the two dignified men were led to the executioner’s block. He saw the blood gush forth as their heads rolled away from their bodies.

Margaret saw that he neither shuddered nor turned away. She was pleased with him. She was sure he would not grow up to be like his father.

THE FATEFUL DECISION

‘This,’ said Margaret, ‘should be the beginning of the end. We have trounced the great Warwick. What is the victory at Mortimer Cross now? It is for us to march to London to show the people the King and to tell them the war is over. The enemy is defeated.’

It was the answer. But the Earls of Pembroke and Wiltshire were thoughtful. Margaret’s army consisted of the roughest men; a great many of them were mercenaries; they were fighting this war not for a cause but because of the booty. They were dreaded and hated throughout the country.

The troops of York and Warwick were of a different caliber. They were fighting because they believed they needed a strong King and Henry was not suited to the role. They had merely wanted him to reign with strong men to guide him and after his death for York to take the throne. York had convinced many of them that he had the greater claim in any case.

The people of London would never open their gates to Margaret’s army. One did not have to think very deeply to imagine the pillage that would take place if the richest city in the kingdom was thrown open to the marauders. London had its own troops. It would never allow Margaret’s rabble to enter.

There was discussion and argument. Margaret began to see the point. There would be opposition and London had decided the fate of several kings.

Perhaps she was not strong enough. Perhaps now that she had shown she could win battles she would lure different kinds of men to her banner. Perhaps she would not have to rely on these mercenaries collected for her by her very good friends.

When Jasper added his voice to the others she was inclined to sway towards their view. In the meantime she remained at St. Albans.


* * *

Warwick rode at the head of his defeated army. The debacle at St. Albans had been a humiliating experience. Looking back he could see where it had gone wrong. There had been too much preparation and it had all been of no avail—frustrated by the simplest of strategy. The battle had not taken place facing the direction he had intended it should. It all depended on that— and the defection of Lovelace. Who would have believed it of the man? Whom could one trust? Men changed sides as easily as they changed their boots.

And now? Well, he had been in worse trouble. All was not lost. He must join up with Edward. The young man would be in good spirits flushed with the success of Mortimer’s Cross. Together they would form a considerable army; and his men would merge with the victorious and forget their defeat.

He sent scouts ahead to make contact with Edward and as he marched he made his plans.

He had lost his figurehead. He no longer had the King. He could not say that he was the King’s servant when the King now marched with the enemy. Of what use was the King when he was not a figurehead? Poor Henry, he was too supine to be anything else.

‘Forsooth and forsooth,’ said Warwick, imitating the King’s own oath, ‘since I do not hold him, I must needs do without him.’

He was in good spirits when in the town of Burford he made contact with Edward and his army.

They embraced. Then Edward looked about him.

‘Where is the King?’ he asked.

‘Right before me,’ answered Warwick.

Edward looked bewildered.

‘You are now the King,’ said Warwick.

Edward stared at him; and then his face was illumined by z, smile. He began to laugh.

‘There is little time to be lost. We will rest here and I will tell you what happens next.’

So they rested, for that night only. There must be no delay.

‘It is imperative that we reach London before Margaret,’ said Warwick. ‘The people of London will not let her in. They do not trust her armies. They will welcome us to protect the city and that is what we will promise to do and then my friend...and then...we will present them with their new king Edward—the fourth of that name. I know it will succeed.’

‘I will make it succeed,’ said Edward.

And Warwick glowed with satisfaction. This would be the cleverest move of his life. Out of defeat he would snatch victory.


* * *

London was in turmoil. News of the Yorkist defeat had reached it and the citizens feared that now Margaret’s army would descend upon them. Councils were hastily called to discuss the best move.

Proud Cis was terrified for her two sons George and Richard. She was full of foreboding. The death of her husband and son had filled her with melancholy. She had been so certain that she was almost Queen of England. She worried constantly about Edward’s safety. If she lost him all her hopes would be centred in George and Richard.

She said a fond farewell to them and sent them off to the Low Countries and settled down in Southwark to await the worst. Meanwhile the magistrates had decided that they would be unable to keep out the Queen’s army and must try to make terms, perhaps placate them; in any case keep them from the looting they had previously indulged in. Houses and shops were hastily boarded up and people began to arm themselves.

There were messages from Margaret; she needed food and money for her army and demanded that London supply them. The mayor and the aldermen set about collecting this. When news came that many of the rough Northerners had tired of waiting at St. Albans and had deserted, wandering back to the North and looking for loot as they went, the Londoners were delighted.