The Sun in Splendour - Plaidy Jean (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации .txt) 📗

Wars had clouded his life. These incessant Wars of the Roses. He had thought they were over—all had thought so when Edward rose so magnificently out of the horrors of war and took the crown. If Edward had lived . . . . If his son had been a little older ....

But it had not been so and now he was faced with this mighty decision. He would do his best and he would emerge from the struggle either King of England or a dead man.

At the end of July Thomas Lord Stanley had come to him and asked permission to retire to his estates. He was very suspicious of Stanley. Stanley was a time-server. He was a man who had a genius for extricating himself from difficult situations. Such men were bom to survive. They lived by expediency. They swayed with the wind. Richard had little respect for Stanley and yet he needed his help.

He had been arrested at the time of Hastings' execution but after a very short time had been freed, in time to carry the mace at Richard's coronation.

He had married Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry Tudor, but he had conhnued to serve Richard.

Richard did not trust him but he was too important to be ignored and it seemed to the King that to have him close at hand was better than to spurn him and send him right into the ranks of the enemy.

That his wife had played a part in the Buckingham insurrection was undeniable. When Buckingham had been beheaded Stanley had expressed his agreement that the Duke had deserved his fate. It would have been a different story, Richard was fully aware, if Buckingham had been successful.

At the time Stanley had promised to restrain his wife. He would keep her quietly in the country, he had said.

Now he wished to go to his estates as they urgently required his attention.

Ratcliffe and Catesby put it to the King that Stanley could turn against them and the wisest course was to watch him. After all he was married to the mother of Henry Tudor.

T know,' said Richard. Tf he is going to turn traitor it is better for him to do so now than on a battle field.'

So Stanley left but Richard said he must leave his son behind to answer for his loyal conduct.

There was nothing for Stanley to do, but comply.

And on the seventh of August Henry Tudor landed at Milford Haven.

Richard was at Nottingham when news reached him that Henry Tudor was near Shrewsbury.

He sent for the men he could trust: Norfolk, Catesby, Bracken-bury, Ratcliffe.

Stanley had not returned but had sent an excuse that he was suffering from the sweating sickness. His son. Lord Strange, had attempted to escape but on being captured had confessed that he and his uncle Sir William Stanley had had communication with the invaders.

The Stanleys would betray him, Richard thought, as he had known they would.

There was no time to be lost. They must march now and on the twenty-first of August the two armies arrived at Bosworth Field.

Richard spent a sleepness night. He was fatalistic. Would there be victory on the following day? He felt no great confidence, no great elation. Sorrow weighed heavily upon him. But this should be the turning-point. If Fate showed him that he was to go on and rule he would be a great King. He would learn from his brother's successes and mistakes and he would dedicate himself to the country.

They were there ... his good friends. Brackenbury—his good honest face shining with loyalty—Catesby, Ratcliffe, Norfolk. . . the men he could rely on.

And the Stanleys—where were they?

He mounted his big white horse. No one could mistake him. It was indeed the King's horse. And on his helmet he wore a golden crown.

This day,' he said, 'decides our fate. My friends and loyal subjects remember that victory can be ours if we go into this fight with good hearts and the determination to win the day. At this day's end I will be King or a dead man, I promise you.'

The trumpets were sounding. The moment had come and Richard rode forth at the head of his army.

The battle waged. The sun was hot and the Lancastrians had the advantage because it was at their backs. The Stanleys waited. They would decide which side they were on when the decisive moment came. In the meantime they had no intention of fighting for Richard.

They were Henry Tudor's men and had worked hard for his success. They were ready now . . . waiting for the precise moment which would be best for them to depart.

That moment came. The Stanleys were riding out crying: 'A Tudor. A Tudor.'

Richard heard them and smiled grimly.

Catesby was urging him to fly. He laughed at that. He rode forward brandishing his axe.

He saw Ratcliffe go down and Brackenbury.

My good friends ... he thought. You gave your lives for me ... for truth ... for righteousness ... for loyalty.

A curse on the traitor Tudor!

Treason!' he shouted after the retreating Stanleys who were making their way to the Tudor lines.

He would find Henry Tudor. He should be his special prey. He would take him in single combat. It was their fate which was

being decided. Plantagenet against Tudor. If Richard did not succeed it would not only be the end of a King, it would be the end of a line. Glorious Plantagenet supreme for generations would give way to the new House of Tudor—^begotten by bastards . . . with none but the flimsiest claim to the throne. And the rule of the proud Plantagenets who had governed the land since the glorious days of Henry the Second would be over.

It must not be. It was for him to save it.

'God help me/ he cried. T must find Henry Tudor. The fight is between us two.'

In spite of his small stature he was an impressive figure as he rode forward, the sun glinting on his golden crown, his white horse galloping forward.

His friends called to him but he did not heed them.

'I shall find Henry Tudor,' he shouted.

With his small band of followers he rode right into the midst of the enemy's cavalry.

Now he had seen it—the Welsh banner held aloft by William Brandon, Henry Tudor's standard-bearer. There was the Tudor. He was well protected, surrounded by his men, by no means in the thick of the fight. Trust the Tudor for that.

'I have come to kill you, Tudor,' he muttered. 'It has to be one of us.'

It was folly he knew. There were too many of them but he was there. He had glimpsed Henry Tudor .... He struck at William Brandon, and the man went down.

He saw Ratcliffe who was trying to protect him. His horse had collapsed under him but he was immediately on his feet.

'My lord . . . my lord . . .'It was Ratcliffe again. But Richard did not hear. He had seen Henry Tudor. He had come close enough to strike down his standard-bearer. He was going to take Henry Tudor.

He went forward wielding his battle-axe.

'Treason!' he cried. 'Come, Henry Tudor .... Come out and

fight.'

His men were falling about him, Ratcliffe was down now, but Richard fought on valiantly, the crown on his head. He was determined to storm his way through to the Tudor. If he were going to die he would take him with him.

They were attacking him now. The blows were coming fast.

Then he was sinking into darkness. He fell to the ground and his crown rolled from his head.

It was the end. The battle was over. It was victory for Henry Tudor. Of Richard's loyal friends Norfolk, Ratcliffe and Brackenbury were slain. Catesby was captured and hanged; Lovell escaped to live on into the new reign.

It was Lord Stanley—to whose treachery Henry Tudor owed his victory—who found the golden crown in a hedge and placed it on Henry Tudor's head.

So ended the battle of Bosworth, the last in the Wars of the Roses. So ended the rule of the Plantagenets. A new reigning family had come to England with the Tudors.