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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

All he can recall is that he has to move to the King’s right flank, for that is where he is wanted, or that is where something awaits him. He knows he must get there and that when he does everything will reveal itself. He is moving up across the back of the King’s army, through the mess of wounded men. People step aside for him, stare at him as he passes. A pile of corpses is laid to one side and there are dead horses and there are women with more ale and water and a man is stumbling from the fighting, groaning like a bullock until he falls on his knees, and then to his face, and lies twitching in the snow until he is dead and no one even watches.

Thomas walks on until he finds himself stopped by a roadside and ditch brimming with a slurry of faeces, and beyond is a snow-filled marsh where black boggy lakes are skimmed with grey ice. There are stands of sedge grass and crouching alder trees misshapen by the wind and he realises he has walked the width of the field, and that he is now on the King’s right flank, behind Fauconberg’s men. A memory stirs in him again. He turns and looks down the field, watching the thousands of men fighting and dying under the broad snow-filled expanse of the sky, and then – he sees it.

The flag.

Six ravens.

Riven’s standard.

38

THE SENSE OF wellbeing is gone in a snap but Thomas feels a surge of power within him, and suddenly he knows what to do.

He is running. He is jamming his helmet over his blood-soaked cap. Then he is forcing on the steel-knuckled gloves. He finds a rondel dagger lying on the ground, a foot-long tapering point of rust-flecked steel, and he snatches up a bill, a nicely made thing, with good weight and balance, and he is pushing forward, shunting men aside, and his eyes are fixed on Riven’s flag.

He is not afraid of being killed. He is too fast, too strong. He has a good weapon. He has a helmet. He has gloves. His blood is thrumming in his ears and he can hear himself roaring again.

He is shoving between the gaps in Fauconberg’s lines until he is before Riven’s flag. Alongside him are three or four of Fauconberg’s junior knights in modest harness. They are fighting with pollaxes and bastard swords. The give and take of blows is swift and practised. This is no place for a poorly armoured archer, yet Thomas forces himself forward.