be ready for habitation by late autumn, and his servants were up from London and already in residence in the half- built house. They brought with them several cartloads of furnishings. Lord Cambridge arrived bursting with all sorts of information. On the king’s orders, the goldsmiths of London had fashioned a magnificent harness and trappings for King Henry’s warhorse. The monies expended would have purchased at least twenty brass field ordnances. Another thousand pounds was given over to the purchase of solid gold buttons, aglets, branches, and elegant chains so that when his armor and crusader’s tunic was laid aside, the royal doublet would glitter like a sunburst. Emperor Maximilian had sent his fellow monarch a solid silver crossbow in a silver gild case. The royal arms and weapons were equally magnificent.
“I am devastated I was not there to see it,” Tom lamented.
“Hal was always one for his appearance. He will surely spend his father’s treasury,” Rosamund noted.
“There is more, dear girl. Brew houses were constructed in Portsmith so that beer could be made for the armies and the navies. They brewed a hundred tons of beer a day. I do not know how many brewers, millers, and coopers were there, making their barrels as fast as they could. The beer was put in its barrels in deep trenches covered with boards and atop the boards’ turf. But despite this royal generosity, the soldiers complained the Portsmouth beer was too sour and demanded the barley malt beer of London. But it, too, proved sour. I suspect the damp of the coast is responsible. At any rate, the fleet sailed, the ships holes filled with men, horses, and sour beer. And all arrived safely in France.”
“Then Hal has his amusement and will not notice that I did not answer his summons,” Rosamund said.
“You will have to go eventually,” Tom told her. “I will travel with you, dear girl. I dare not trust you to the king’s care, now, do I?” He chuckled dryly.
Word began drifting into the north. The king had arrived safely at his possession of Calais. He had been warmly welcomed by the cheering citizenry. But suddenly England found itself practically the sole supporter of the Holy League. Henry Tudor’s father-in-law claimed he believed himself near death and was reluctant to leave Spain. He was, he said, “too old and too crazy to endure war.” But Ferdinand, had the truth been known, was a skinflint who did not choose to expend monies in a war someone else could fight for him. Venice sent no troops, and in that city it was said the pope himself had become neutral, for the papal offensive that had been planned to come through Provence or Dauphine never materialized. The Holy Roman Emperor sent few troops, but those sent were paid by the English. His daughter, Margaret of Savoy, however, continued to defy France loudly, daring the French to do their worst, for she, she claimed, would be protected beneath English arrows.
In late July the English departed Calais and moved into the French territories. A successful skirmish near St. Omer left them eager for more. On August first the English arrived before the walls of Therouanne. After ten days of siege, a herald arrived bringing a message from Henry Tudor’s brother-in-law, France’s old ally, King James of Scotland. The English were to leave Therouanne. They were to depart the territories of France. They were, in fact, to return home. James Stewart was warning the young English king that war would shortly break out between them if he did not cease his hostilities in France.
Henry’s reply was a strong and clear one. “It becometh ill a Scot to summon a King of England. Tell him there shall never Scot cause me to return my face.” Henry continued by pretending outrage that James had threatened his ally by marriage. He grew more publicly indignant as his audience grew. “Recommend me to your master,” he told the herald as he sent him off, “and tell him if he be so hardy to invade my realm or cause to enter one foot of my ground, I shall make him as weary of his part as ever was a man that began any such business.”
The Tudor king knew his wife, acting as his regent, and his captains at home would handle any situation with Scotland should it arise. The King of England was free to pursue his war on the continent.
On the sixteenth of August, near the town of Guinegate, the English and the French in almost equal numbers met. Surprising the French, who were not expecting them so soon, the English charged. The charge sent one group of French soldiery careening into another. Panic ensued. The French turned and galloped off in a retreat, leaving behind their standards and weapons, and most oddly, many of their spurs. The English followed, gaining a great victory that became known as the Battle of the Spurs. Afterwards the English took Therouanne, and Henry, with his army in tow, went on to Lille, where he paid a social call on Margaret of Savoy. He was royally feted and charmed everyone, playing any instrument offered him, proving his prowess with his silver crossbow and dancing in his stockinged feet until dawn lit the skies about Lille.
Well rested, the English king moved on to capture the great walled city of Tournai with its double-thick walls and ninety-nine towers. And after that, he captured five more walled towns, seven in total. By autumn, when England’s king left for home, he was no longer considered an untried boy king by his contemporaries. He had become Great Harry, and the news of his victories spread back to England and as far to the east as the sultan’s capital of Istanbul. Henry VIII was now considered a man to be reckoned with by the world about him.
At Friarsgate, before all of this was known, Rosamund received a message from her old friend, the Queen of Scotland. Margaret saw what was coming. She knew her husband’s plans and how her arrogant, clever brother had driven him into a corner from which he had but one way of emerging: by means of war. There could be no escape from what was happening around them.
“Gather your harvest in, and keep close to Friarsgate,” she wrote. “I do not believe either of the armies will come your way, but beware of those on both sides of the border, especially the deserters. God keep you, dear friend, and those you love safe from this storm that is upon us. I am again with child. When it is possible I will write to you again.” The letter was signed simply, “Meg.” Not “Margaret R,” but “Meg.”
Rosamund shared her knowledge with her family and all the Friarsgate folk. “We must keep watch on the hills for invaders or other troublemakers,” she said. She turned to her uncle. “Make it so, Edmund. There must be a watch kept round the clock.”
“Do you wish to send her highness a reply?” the young messenger asked.
Rosamund nodded. “Remain the night, lad. I will write the queen. You will depart at first light. And on your return, stop at Claven’s Carn. Tell the laird, Logan Hepburn, that war is coming between Scotland and England.”
“Are you softening your stance towards the Hepburn?” Tom asked her.
“I send him warning for his good wife’s sake. She is near her time, Tom. Whatever these kings do, Logan Hepburn is my neighbor. We borderers are a different breed from those others of our nationality.”
He nodded. “I will remain here with you, dear girl. If the queen is right, and war is upon us, it is likely the invasion will come from the southeast. We shall probably see nothing here, but you have the queen’s ring, which should protect us from the Scots if they come over the border in this region.”
“Aye, I would feel easier if you remained, Tom. I pray that Meg is wrong. The Scots do not fare well when they go to war with England. And we both know Hal. If his brother-in-law is fortunate enough to overcome him, England will not rest until the insult has been avenged. We will be at war forever, and Friarsgate cannot escape if that is so. Damn! Why could not Hal have been a man like his father? Oh, Tom, do you think that Patrick will answer King James’ call?”
“I think that Adam will see his father, newly recovered from his seizure, not be allowed to join the king’s ranks, though he may do so himself,” Lord Cambridge said, and he shook his head. “And what is it really all about, Rosamund?” he sighed.
“I do not know, Tom,” she answered him. “I think most wars are begun from nothing.”
Chapter 14
He had gathered twenty-five men, not including his two brothers, Colin and Ian. But when Jeannie learned he was planning to depart she grew hysterical, and nothing he did could calm her. As she was near her time, he
