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Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. About the Author
  4. Kingmaker: Winter Pilgrims
  5. Dedication
  6. Though the Lancastrian Claim comes from Edward III’s THIRD son, it relies on a) possession and b) that the crown can not pass through a woman – Philippa Mormer – so must fall to the next male in line. The Yorkist Claim relies on their descent from Edward III’s SECOND son, and says it can pass through Philippa. The Tudor Claim ignores the fact of passing through a woman – Lady Margaret Beaufort – or that John, Earl of Somerset, was born illegimate.
  7. Factions in the Wars of the Roses
  8. Prologue
  9. PART ONE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. PART TWO
  15. 5
  16. 6
  17. 7
  18. 8
  19. 9
  20. 10
  21. 11
  22. 12
  23. 13
  24. PART THREE
  25. 14
  26. 15
  27. 16
  28. 17
  29. 18
  30. 19
  31. PART FOUR
  32. 20
  33. 21
  34. 22
  35. 23
  36. PART FIVE
  37. 24
  38. 25
  39. 26
  40. 27
  41. 28
  42. 29
  43. 30
  44. 31
  45. PART SIX
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. PART SEVEN
  49. 34
  50. 35
  51. 36
  52. 37
  53. 38
  54. 39
  55. Acknowledgements

Saying this he swings his leg over his horse and drops lightly to the ground. Taking hold of the bridle, he holds his sword to the horse’s neck. Everyone is still. They watch. Warwick is looking at them all. The horse takes a step away, and another. Then Warwick pulls the sword towards him, slicing through the flesh, cutting the knotted veins that run alongside the horse’s throat, setting a torrent of blood seething across his fine plated sabatons. He steps back to let the horse fall in a loud struggling curl on the ground.

Except for the dying horse there is silence.

King Edward, who was Earl of March, stares at the Earl of Warwick. He does not seem to know what to do. He looks about, for Lord Fauconberg perhaps, but he is not there.

Warwick’s own men know what to do. They start cheering and they push to the front of the crowd, and soon they are launching another attack down the road to the bridge.

35

WILLIAM HASTINGS HAS assigned Katherine and the barber surgeon’s assistant a rush-roofed barn among some elms, a league or so from the river crossing they call Ferrybridge. The barber surgeon’s assistant has found a moon-faced girl to show them where.

‘It’s a wonder she’s not been strangled as a witch,’ he mutters. ‘But she knows the way.’

His name is Mayhew, and he is nervous around horses and anyone in command. When they get there they find the barn is occupied by men sheltering from the cold and it smells of cow shit and mice.

‘But it’s filthy,’ Katherine says.

‘What did you expect?’ the girl replies. ‘It’s a barn.’

She is about twelve, Katherine supposes, with an accent she can hardly decipher.

Grylle arrives to evict the soldiers, and despite herself Katherine is pleased to see him, though he is shocked to see her.

‘Are you quite well, my lady? You look . . .?’

He tails off with a shrug. She has been crying, and imagines her face smutted with smoke mixed with tears.

‘I am fine,’ she says and Grylle leaves it at that.

‘I am sorry it is so basic,’ he apologises. ‘The hospital in the friary’s already full.’

She imagines this to be false, and that it is being kept as a billet for the better class of commanders.

‘But the friars are on their way,’ he goes on, brightening, ‘and the surgeons from the other companies will be here by the by. They’ll bring more supplies and so on, I suppose?’

He has no idea. She has no idea. No one has any idea. They are so keen on fighting one another they have forgotten to think what to do with the wounded.

‘Is it always like this?’ she asks Mayhew when Grylle has ridden off.