The King's Dogge (8 page)

‘With the extra men, we will need to make further changes to accommodate them all in the castle,' Sir Christopher observed cheerfully at dinner.

It had taken six months to win over this prickly little man, but now that all the arrears of pay had been settled and recruitment for another two hundred men had begun, he had begun to lose his distrust of Richard of Gloucester. By the time the masons had been summoned to provide estimates to replace the worst of the stonework and the carpenters had rebuilt the stables, he had become positively enthusiastic. So much so, in fact, that he was begging me to approach the duke for money to recreate the defensive ditch in the courtyard.

‘Extra arms too, my lord,' continued Sir Christopher.

My title was now in common usage in the castle, since it was assumed that I had some extraordinary ability to coax money out of the ducal council.

‘We still have not resolved the bigger issue,' observed Sir Thomas Broughton, ‘of how we are actually going to stop the Scots from raiding.' His eyes twinkled. ‘Unless you can ask the duke to send us some Saracen horsemen – I hear they are the best in the world.'

I laughed heartily; I liked Sir Thomas. He was a landowner from southern Cumberland with black, straggly hair and a wild beard. It was curious that he and Sir Christopher were friendly, I thought. They seemed to have so little in common. Sir Christopher was devoted to his position in the castle, while Sir Thomas was a natural wanderer. He had spent many years travelling in Europe, although he was vague about what he had actually been doing in this time. I suspected he had been a soldier of fortune, until he had finally returned to England with a French wife half his age.

His position in the castle hierarchy was ambiguous. He had arrived a few weeks previously to see his old friend and had stayed on to help. Like Sir Christopher, he had little time for the country's recent wars; what mattered to him was overcoming the danger of the Scots. I found him humourous, his common sense invaluable and his military knowledge extensive.

‘Strengthening castles alone won't stop the Scots,' continued Thomas. ‘I accept that they have to be maintained but the Scots are manoeuvrable and we're not.'

I had heard it all before. The Scots on their short, shaggy ponies were capable of covering an amazing sixty miles in a day and a night. They were a fearsome foe with their eight-foot spears, swords and knives. For protection, they had sleeveless jacks, helmets and small shields; most worrying of all was their ability to move with the minimum of supplies and raid freely in Westmorland and Cumberland.

Such troops as could be mustered on the West March were primarily infantry used to defend fortifications that the Scots largely avoided. Attempts to use our archers, supported by men-at-arms as infantry patrols, proved useless. The supply chains required for such a force slowed our men down and the Scots raced around burning villages and farms carrying off livestock, and attacking solitary farms and travellers.

To my mind, the solution was obvious. I determined to build up our own force of light horse, which could not only counter the Scottish raids but, in due course, raid into Scotland. The problem was that I had neither the men, nor money, horses or anyone to train our force. Additionally, with the Duke of Gloucester abroad with the English Army in France, I could neither ask for his authorisation or support. But I knew it was the right policy and Ratcliffe agreed. Hesitantly, I took the problem to Thomas Broughton.

He stroked his wild beard.

‘You are serious about this, aren't you, Francis?'

‘It is the only way to stop the Scots.'

He pondered for a while but then grinned at me.

‘We will have to start to bluff,' he said. ‘If it goes wrong, you will be in so much trouble you would have done better if you had died at Barnet.' He winked. ‘Mind you, if it works out then you will have bound both counties firmly behind Richard of Gloucester, which is probably what he wants.'

He paused.

‘You'll have to tell lies and make promises you can't guarantee to keep, but, with Moresby and myself to back you, you'll win a lot of support. Then, all you have to do is to get the duke to agree to what you have already done.'

His unkempt hair fell over his forehead; impatiently, he pushed it back.

‘Mind you, that should not be hard with all that he currently owes you.'

I looked up sharply.

‘What do you mean?'

He grinned.

‘Sir Christopher might believe that the costs of repairs and funding of the wages for the garrison all came from the duke, but I don't,' he said. ‘You've spent your own money and are now probably heavily in debt because you believed it was the right thing to do. Am I right?'

I nodded bashfully.

‘Well it needed someone to do something,' he said, ‘so that's why I'll help you in Cumberland and get Moresby to do the same in Westmorland. You are probably completely mad – but we will help.'

Leaving Moresby in Carlisle, we journeyed south to Broughton Hall. I was surprised to see that this far south it had a piel tower, but Thomas advised that it was a necessary defence against the Scots. Having sent out messages, we began to tour the county to visit the homes of those men who had previously supported the Earl of Warwick. The message we put over to them was simple: Warwick was dead. I had been with him when he died – I received surprised looks at this point. Gloucester was not only the warden of the West March but also Sheriff of Cumberland and the Earl of Carlisle. More importantly, he had married Warwick's daughter. Their son would be Warwick's grandson. Furthermore, Gloucester – despite all his other duties – had shown an interest in the West March. As testament to his efforts, Carlisle Castle had been strengthened and partially rebuilt. I argued with them that to remain permanently on the defensive was not a sensible military option. We needed to create a mobile force better than that of the Scots to stop the raids and harry them over the border. Gloucester had promised to supply horses and men to train the troops but, in the meantime, he needed their support in men and loans to raise a force of 1,000, and perhaps even more than that.

It was solely due to the influence of Thomas Broughton and, later, Christopher Moresby that we got the support of the landowners, and when eventually I realised that we had 1,000 men pledged for two years' service, I judged it advisable to go to meet Richard of Gloucester.

I found him at Sheriff Hutton. I reported the situation I had found as concisely as I could to him, beginning with the decayed situation in Carlisle and the antipathy of the gentry to anyone who was not the Earl of Warwick. I briefly described the improvements we had already made to Carlisle and the plan to establish a mobile force to wage war on both sides of the border.

‘So Richard of Gloucester heard you out in silence and told you that he would give you his decision in the morning,' Ratcliffe clarified.

I shifted uncomfortably.

‘Yes, I assume that he will want to take advice before he agrees or disagrees with what I have done.'

‘What we have done,' Ratcliffe quickly corrected me. ‘Don't forget I authorised your plan to commit Gloucester to pay for your horsemen.'

‘I had not realised that I would drag you down with me, if things go against me,' I apologised.

Ratcliffe fell silent and I guessed that he was assessing how great the threat to us was. In truth, I was not optimistic of the outcome since Gloucester would obviously turn to his ducal councillors for advice. The problem was that I had heard that many of them were already prejudiced against me. It seemed that a number of them felt that a more experienced man should have been appointed to the West March. Doubtless they would listen carefully when Richard presented them with an account of my actions, but then would happily recommend my dismissal on the grounds of impetuousness and irresponsibility. I passed on my opinion to Ratcliffe gloomily. He glanced round the little chamber that had been allocated to him and absent-mindedly rolled two of the scrolls on the table from side to side.

‘Gloucester might not ask his councillors,' he said slowly. ‘If I'm right – and it is a very big “if” indeed – I think he will ask Anne Neville about what you have done.'

I stared at Ratcliffe in amazement.

‘But why would he ask his wife?'

He drummed his fingers on the table irritably.

‘Francis, I'm not certain that he will. Perhaps I'm totally wrong, but I think that Richard relies very heavily on Anne.'

‘Why do you say that?'

Ratcliffe drummed his fingers on the table in frustration.

‘As I said, perhaps I'm wholly incorrect. But you can make your own mind up when I tell you my story. But first of all, what did you make of Anne?'

I thought back to our meeting. Anne Neville had been sitting in a high-backed chair, but as we approached she had passed her embroidery to one of her ladies and had risen to greet us. Pleasantries were exchanged, and Nan and her cousin spoke of childhood memories. Then it was my turn, and it was not until I actually came face-to-face with her that I realised just how like her father she was. It was not just that she shared his love of expensive apparel and gleaming jewelled rings nor was it simply in their same pale blue eyes and warm smiles. I spotted these similarities of course, but when Anne Neville used the same mannerisms as her father Warwick, I felt time move backwards. He'd had a number of course, but you could always tell when he was trying to assess the truth of what someone was telling him. He used to cock his head slightly to one side and tap his forefinger slowly. I saw his daughter do the same when, at her request, I told her my story of the battle where her father had died. For obvious reasons I sought to improve it, but even as I did so, with her head slightly cocked, her long finger began to tap the side of her chair.

The tapping stopped shortly after I had finished speaking.

‘I do not believe that poor father's death was quite as heroic as you claimed it to be,' she said softly. ‘But thank you for what you did.'

I reported this to Ratcliffe. I added that I thought Anne Neville was very shrewd and my wife's comment that her cousin had always been extremely clever.

Ratcliffe narrowed his eyes and began his account.

When he first started in Richard of Gloucester's service, Ratcliffe was determined to make a success of his role. It was a unique career opportunity for a man such as himself. To make himself as useful as possible to Gloucester, Ratcliffe decided to study the man and to identify areas of potential weakness. Once he discovered these he reasoned that he could look to excel in places where Gloucester was weak and thus make himself indispensible.

As time went by, Ratcliffe's analyses became more comprehensive, but his conclusion was not a happy one. In his view, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, was not a natural leader of men. Instead of inspiring trust, he seemed cold and secretive in his manner.

‘But that is nonsense,' I interrupted Ratcliffe. ‘I can distinctly remember my first meeting with Richard. He was none of those things.'