Margaret dipped her head, saying a prayer for Captain Brown, now lying sightless and still where he’d fallen in her defence. Her view of the fighting had been in spots and gleams of moonlight, a frozen witness to rushing, bawling shadows and a constant clash of metal that was like a whispering voice.
That voice had fallen silent as the hours passed, replaced by the loud talk and hard laughter of Cade’s men. As the sun rose, she saw his followers running riot, breaking into the mint and staggering out under the weight of anything they could carry. She’d heard the mob hooting in delight and seen gold and silver coins spilled as carelessly as lives, to roll and spin untended on the stones.
There had been a moment when one of them stood and looked up at the tower, as if he could see her standing back in the shadows of the door. Whoever he was, the man stood head and shoulders above those around him. She’d wondered then if it was Cade himself, but the name she spat in her thoughts was called from the walls and the big man trotted away to meet his master. The sun was up and the tower had held. She gave thanks for that much.
Others came past the outer walls then, to stare up at the White Tower. Margaret could feel their gaze creeping over it and her, making her want to scratch. If she’d had crossbows, it would have been the time to order their use, but such weapons as they’d had lay in dead hands on the ground below. It was strange to look down on the enemies who’d assaulted the city and be unable to do anything, though they stood within reach and walked as if they owned the land around them.
By the time the sun cleared the outer walls, flooding gold light across the White Tower, they were marching away, carrying their spoils and leaving their dead behind for the Tower ravens to pluck and snag. The mist was thinning and Margaret slumped against the frozen doorway, making one of the guards reach nervously out to her in case she fell. He caught himself before he laid hands on the queen and she never noticed the movement, her attention captured by the jingling sound of armoured men coming through the broken gate.
It was with an odd sensation of relief that she recognized Derry Brewer walking at the head of a small group. As he spotted the bodies and broke into a lurching run, she saw how filthy he was, spattered to the thighs with all manner of foul muck. He came right to the foot of the tower, standing in the smashed wood of the stairs and looking up at the doorway.
Margaret came forward into the sunlight and she could have blessed him for the look of relief on his face as he caught sight of her.
‘Thank God,’ he said softly. ‘Cade’s men are on their way out of the city, my lady. I am pleased to see you well.’ Derry looked around. ‘It’s difficult to think of a safer place in London at this moment, but I imagine you are sick of this tower, at least for today. If you’ll allow me, I’ll have men sent to find ladders, or to build them.’
‘Let down a rope to him,’ Margaret ordered the soldiers clustering behind her. ‘While they find me a way down, Derry, you can climb up.’
He didn’t question the command and only groaned quietly to himself, wondering if he had the strength. In the end, it took three men pulling on the rope above before he reached the lip and they were able to heave him over. Derry lay gasping on the stone floor, quite unable to rise until the guards helped him. He attempted a bow and almost fell.
‘You are exhausted,’ Margaret said, reaching out to take his arm. ‘Come in further. There is food enough and wine.’
‘Ah, that would be very welcome, my lady. I am not quite at my best, I admit.’
Half an hour later, he was seated in a room within the tower, wrapped in a blanket by the fire and chewing fat slices of cured ham as he fought against the desire to sleep. Outside, the noise of hammers told him Lord Scales was busying himself constructing rough steps. Some of the men inside had already climbed down to help with the work. Derry was left alone with the young queen, watching him with large brown eyes that missed nothing.
Margaret bit her lip with impatience, forcing herself to wait until he had satisfied his hunger and belched into his fist, the platter of ham polished clean. She needed to know what Derry had witnessed in the night. Perhaps first, she needed him to know what had been done for her.
‘Captain Brown was a good, brave man,’ she said.
Derry looked up sharply, seeing the unnatural paleness of her face, the fear and exhaustion still showing in her.
‘I knew him well, my lady. I was sorry to see he hadn’t come through. It was a hard night for all of us.’
‘It was. Good men have died in my defence, Derry. And I live still. We have both survived — and the sun has risen.’
Her voice firmed as she spoke, as she put her grief and weariness away for another time.
‘How good is your information today, Master Brewer?’ she asked.
He straightened in the chair, struck by the formality and understanding that it was a recall to duty. He was hard-pressed not to groan as every bone and muscle sent sharp warnings at the movement.
‘Not as good as I would like, my lady. I know Cade has marched back to the bridge and over it. I have men watching him, ready to run back to me if something changes. For today, I would imagine he’ll stay in Southwark to rest and count his spoils.’ His voice became bitter as he spoke. ‘But he’ll be back tonight, I don’t doubt. That is the burr, my lady. That is the thorn. I don’t have the count of men lost, but from what I’ve seen and heard, there are precious few soldiers left in London. We have no more than a few hundred, perhaps a thousand men at most, from here to the west wall. With your permission, I will send riders out today to summon every knight and man- at-arms within range for tonight.’
‘Will it be enough?’ she asked, looking into the flames of the fire.
He considered lying to raise her spirits, but there was no point. He shook his head.
‘The lords of the north have armies to crush Cade and half a dozen like him, but we can’t reach them in time. Those we can … well, there are not enough, not if he comes back tonight.’
Margaret felt her fears surface at the despair she saw in him. Derry was never down for long, she knew that. He always bounced up when he was knocked on to his back. Seeing his hopelessness was almost more frightening than the dark murders of the night before.
‘How is it possible?’ she said in a whisper. It might have been a question she did not mean to ask aloud, but Derry shrugged.
‘We were spread too thin, or the unrest was too wide to contain. My lady, it doesn’t matter what has gone before. We are here today and we will defend London tonight. I think you should get out of the city, either to Kenilworth or the palace in Greenwich. I can have boats brought before noon to take you. I will know then that you are safe, no matter what follows.’
Margaret hesitated a beat before she shook her head.
‘No. It has not yet come to that. If I flee the city, this man Cade will be calling himself king before tomorrow — or perhaps Lord York the day after, if he is behind this.’
Derry looked sharply at the young queen, wondering how much she understood of the threats arrayed against her family.
‘If York’s hand is anywhere in this attack, he’s been more subtle than before, my lady. I would not be surprised if there are agents working in his name, but I know for a fact that the man himself is still in Ireland.’
Her voice was low and urgent as she replied, leaning closer in case they could be overheard.
‘I am aware of the threat, Derry. York is the royal “heir” after all.’ Unconsciously, her hand dipped to run over her womb as she went on. ‘He
Derry blinked slowly at her, struggling against the weariness and warmth that threatened sleep, just when he needed to be sharp. He saw her thinking, sitting close enough to watch the pupils of her eyes contract and then widen.
‘I saw them take the fresh-minted gold,’ she said, staring at nothing, ‘last night and this morning. Cade’s men have found loot beyond their wildest dreams. They will be counting and gloating over it today, aware that they will never see such wealth again.’
‘My lady?’ Derry said in confusion. He sat up and rubbed his face, feeling the calluses on his hands.
‘They do not know how weak we are, how feeble the defence has become. They
