BooksBarbecue
Back Winter Pilgrims
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

And how is it with the enemy? Over the field he can see and hear the impact of the arrows. He can see their line buckle, thin and bunch, but it seems the poorly armoured enemy archers are paying dearly.

‘They’ll not take much more of this,’ Thomas shouts. ‘They must come at us!’

No commander can stand to watch his men take such punishment. Already there is a low wall of the dead at the northerners’ feet and everywhere wounded men disrupt the living. The northerners will have to break one way or other, he thinks, forwards or backwards, and it would be better for them if they broke forwards.

Around him men are still crying out for more arrows. They begin reusing the northerners’ shafts, plucking them from the ground and sending them back the way they’ve come. The damaged arrows thrum and throb in the air. The broken fletches buzz like wasps, each one with a dying fall as it speeds out of earshot.

But now the boys are running forward, each weighed down with five or six damp linen bags full of arrows. They duck through the ranks and drop them at the archers’ feet. The archers rip them open and get to work.

‘Nock! Draw! Loose!’

They do not need to be told.

And yet the northerners still hold their line. They continue loosing their arrows, and all the while their arrows fall short.

‘They cannot see,’ Thomas guesses. ‘They cannot see their arrows are not reaching us.’

Every man is loosing just as he can now, scrabbling for arrows from the ground and from the boys as they pass. Thomas has no breath to order the salvoes, only enough to nock, draw and loose.

On it goes, full five minutes. How can they stand it?

Then the boys slip away, some sixth sense warning them to go, and across the fields the trumpets blare and the flags move forwards and the colours of the enemy line change. The line solidifies. Gone are the muted buffs and russets of the archers’ jacks, and now men in heavy armour and bright livery coats begin moving through.

They come forward in companies under their flags but first they must negotiate the corpses of their archers strewn thick as autumn leaves on the blood-slicked ground. The snow is in their eyes as they tramp forward, down from their hill, away from their advantage, and Thomas shouts at his men to use every last arrow they have.

‘Back!’ he shouts, gesturing. The enemy front is a hundred paces away. ‘Come on! Leave them be.’