Richard rode alone at the head of the column, listening to the jangling and clanking of an army on the move and was suddenly catapulted back to that day in Ludlow when he had first heard the sound. He could hear his father’s voice clearly ordering the flight of the Yorkist lords in the middle of the night rather than face defeat by the royal army. He grunted at the irony that another Richard of York was readying to do battle with another Henry of Lancaster, but this time, the roles were reversed: York wore the crown and Lancaster mounted the challenge.

With Northumberland trusted to bring several thousand to swell Richard’s force, and Stanley another five thousand or so, Richard hoped that this Henry would turn tail and run, but a dark cloud of treachery hung over Richard as he contemplated the recent intelligence that Northumberland had failed to muster any men in York, citing plague as an excuse. York was Richard’s stronghold, and thus he had managed to impress upon the mayor the urgency of his need for loyal men. At the last minute, York had done its best to answer the call. There was, thus, a niggling doubt in Richard’s mind about Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland, and an even larger doubt about Thomas and William Stanley. He knew between the two brothers there were four thousand men at somebody’s disposal; his gut told him he could not count on their being at his.

Richard entered Leicester by the Gallowsgate on Friday, the nineteenth day of August, and was greeted by cheering citizens and throngs of soldiers from all parts of the country shouting his name. The sight gave him tremendous confidence, and he began to believe his crown was secure. He reined in his great white courser along the route to the castle to address his faithful followers.

“I thank you from my heart for this welcome, good people of Leicester. I well remember my warm reception here after my crowning. It is good to know I have your loyalty in the face of the invader, and, as loyalty is my watchword, I give you my word I will beat him back into the sea from whence he came and keep our kingdom safe. It is my sacred duty.”

“God save King Richard! God save the king!” rang from the rooftops as Richard proceeded through the narrow streets to the castle overlooking the River Soar. Waiting for him were those he trusted most, and he slid off White Syrie’s back to greet his heir, earl of Lincoln, Francis Lovell, Jack Howard, Robert Brackenbury, Lord Ferrers, and his own son, John, the lad’s eyes shining with pride.