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Henry’s march brings him to Lichfield, where Lord Stanley’s army have occupied the town. He hopes that his stepfather will open the gates to him and bring out his own army to join the march, but this doesn’t happen. As soon as Stanley’s scouts bring him news that Henry Tudor’s army is on the road to the town, he simply withdraws and advises the townspeople to open their gates to avoid bloodshed. Richard in Nottingham, like Henry at the town gates, cannot be certain whether this is a gesture of rebellion or loyalty. Lord Stanley’s army marches away and is now quartered at Atherstone, his brother a little to the north. They look like armies choosing a battleground. Lord Stanley sends daily messages to Richard, telling him where the Tudor army is headed, their numbers, their discipline. He does not come himself, as he should do, but he appears loyal.
Richard orders his army out of Nottingham Castle and onto the road south. He orders square battle-as his brother Edward would have ordered, with men in square ranks and the cavalry riding up and down the line, on guard. The king himself and his household guards ride at the front: everyone can see the royal standard ahead of them; everyone knows that Richard is determined to crush this threat to his peace once and for all. This will be the last rebellion of his reign, the end of the long wars of the cousins.
Before they leave Nottingham, Catesby delays the king with a question. “The Stanley boy?”
“He can come with us. Under guard.”
“Should we not kill him now?”
Richard shakes his head. “I can’t make an enemy of Stanley on the very eve of battle. If we kill his son, we guarantee he goes to Tudor for his revenge. Bring Lord Strange with us, in my retinue, and if Stanley moves against us, we will behead him on the spot.”
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The royal army and the Tudor army are not the only forces marching to meet. The two Stanley armies are positioned and waiting; the Earl of Northumberland is bringing a force of cavalry behind Richard, promised faithfully both to his service and to Margaret Stanley. The greatest single army to take the field is undoubtedly the king’s. But the Stanleys’ and Northumberland’s forces would tip the balance.
AUGUST 19, 1485
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Jasper, his big warhorse jogging in a trot beside his nephew’s charger, leans over and clasps his gauntleted hand on the reins. “Courage, my boy.”
Henry flashes him a tight, small smile.
“Let them get ahead.” Jasper nods to their own slowly advancing army. “Let them get out of sight and then double back. I’ll get them settled for the night and then come out for you. Do what you can with the Stanleys. I won’t show myself unless you get into trouble.”
“You don’t think they’d kill me?” Henry asks, as if it is a question of tactics.
Jasper sighs. “I don’t think so. I think they are more likely to tell you their terms. They must think you have a good chance; they wouldn’t even be meeting us if they were not intending to back you. I don’t like you meeting them alone, but with his son as hostage, Stanley has to be careful. You have your knife in your boot?”
“Of course.”
“And I won’t be far behind you. Godspeed, Your Grace. I’ll be just behind you. I’ll have you in earshot for most of the time.”
“God help us all,” Henry says bleakly. He checks the road ahead to see that the stragglers of his army have turned a corner and he is out of sight, then turns his own horse and rides away to meet the Stanley servant, waiting cloaked on his own horse, in the shadow of the hedgerow.
They ride in silence, Henry scanning the darkening landscape to be sure of finding his way back to his army. The servant gestures to a little roadside inn, the skeletal holly bush strapped over the door as a sign that it is open for poor business, and Henry dismounts. The servant takes his horse to the back of the building, and Henry ducks his head, takes a deep breath, and pushes open the door.
He blinks. The room is filled with smoke from the dirty rushlights and the greenwood fire, but he can make out Sir William and three other men. He can see no one else: there is no way of knowing whether to expect an ambush or a welcome. With a Breton shrug, Henry Tudor steps into the darkened room.
“Well met, Your Grace, my son.” A tall stranger stands up and drops to his knee before Henry.
Henry puts out a hand that shakes only slightly. The man kisses the glove, and the other two men, and Sir William, drop to their knees as well, pulling off their caps.
Henry finds he is grinning in relief. “Lord Stanley?”
“Yes, Your Grace, and my brother Sir William, whom you know, and these are men of my household for our safety.”
Henry gives Sir William his hand and nods at the other men. He has a sensation of having fallen from a very great height and somehow, luckily, landed on his feet.
“You are alone?”
“I am,” Henry lies.
Stanley nods. “I bring you greetings from your Lady Mother, who has pleaded your cause with me with such passion and determination from the very first day she did me the honor to marry me.”
Henry smiles. “I don’t doubt it. She has known of my destiny from my birth.”
The Stanleys get to their feet and the unnamed servant pours wine for Henry and then his master. Henry takes the glass farthest from the one he is offered and sits on a bench at the fireside.
“How many men do you have under your command?” he asks Stanley bluntly.
The older man takes a glass of wine. “About three thousand under my command; my brother has a further thousand.”
Henry keeps his face composed at the news of an army twice the size of his own. “And when will you join me?”
“When will you meet with the king?”
“Is he marching south?” Henry answers a question with a question of his own.
“He left Nottingham today. He has summoned me to join him. My son writes to me that he will answer with his life if I don’t go.”
Henry nods. “Then he will be upon us within-what? – the week?”
The Stanleys do not remark on Henry’s lack of knowledge of his own country. “Perhaps within two days,” Sir William says.
“Then you had better bring your troops up to mine so that we can pick out the battleground.”
“Certainly, we would do so,” Lord Stanley says, “but for the safety of my son.”