Chapter Fifteen
Nottingham Castle was a massive place, more of a fortified city than a castle proper.
It was normally full of people going about their daily business, but with the assembled armies of King Richard, the entire castle and surrounding berg was jammed with bodies.
Norfolk and Surrey had joined the king’s forces, as well as a host of other lesser knights and houses.
It was quite a conglomeration of forces and at council, most of the ranking nobles demanded to be heard.
This could make the meetings long and loud.
Matthew had spent most of his time with the king during this time and one thing was becoming increasingly apparent; Richard did indeed plan to take command of his army and ride to battle with them.
Matthew had no idea how this would complicate things or shift the focus of the battle and he fervently wished that Gaston would soon join them, as much for his counsel as for his sheer presence.
But The Dark Knight was still noticeably absent, much to the displeasure of the king.
Matthew had sent several riders to find him bearing messages and as yet, none had returned.
He could only assume they had found Gaston and that the man was on his way.
They had received word the previous day that Henry Tudor’s enormous army was moving to Atherstone, having crossed the Welsh Marches without resistance.
This had Richard’s entire army on the move to Leicester to intercept him.
War was imminent and Matthew had been in battle mode since leaving Wellesbourne ten days earlier.
He ate little, slept even less, and focused only on the coming conflict.
He could smell it in the air, especially on the evening of August twenty-first.
It was warm and sultry, but more than that, it was tense with battle preparation.
Richard’s entire force of around five thousand men was camped on Ambion Hill, south of Leicester and directly in the path of Henry Tudor.
When dawn broke on the morning of August twenty-second, the battle had finally come.
The morning at Bosworth Field was clear but for some lingering fog created by the heavy evening moisture.
The White Lord took his troops with Norfolk to create the front lines.
Matthew set up three rows of archers just ahead of the cavalry, nearly one thousand strong.
It would have been far better for him had Gaston been here with his contingent of Welsh archers, but he could not wish for what was not available.
Norfolk had mostly cavalry and infantry, lingering just behind Matthew’s troops.
In the distance, they could see an army approaching, standards flying high.
“Do you see who it is?” he asked Mark, astride his fat red charger.
Mark’s visor was lowered. “Nay,” he turned to Luke. “Can you see the colors?”
Luke squinted in the early morning sun. “It looks like green and white pennants.”
Matthew heard him. “Oxford,” he hissed. “He is leading the charge. Archers ready!”
His voice boomed across the field. The soldiers with the red pennants that, once waved, would set off a deadly volley of arrows, stood at the ready. As Luke charged off to supervise the archers, Mark remained at Matthew’s side, studying the incoming tide of men.
“Any further orders before I assume my position?” he asked.
Matthew shook his head. “When the foot combat begins, return to my side. We must stay united if we are to survive.”
Mark nodded, but still he lingered. Matthew was focused on the approaching Oxford pennants when Mark spoke quietly.
“This is more than likely not the appropriate time, Matt, but I feel I must speak.”
Matthew glanced over at him. “What of?”
Mark cleared his throat, his gaze suddenly uncertain.
“Your wife,” it was difficult for him to bring forth the words.
“I… I have not been very kind to her. I have said terrible things. I want you to know, before this battle begins and our lives may be cut short, that I am sorry. I am sorry for the cruelty I have thought of her.”
He had his brother’s full attention now. “It is unnecessary to apologize,” Matthew said, watching emotion flicker across Mark’s face. “I know you, brother. I know that you did not mean what you said.”
Mark lifted a dark eyebrow. “That is where you are wrong. I meant everything I said, at least at the time.” He was uncomfortable with his confession and slammed his visor down.
“I was jealous, I suppose. Jealous she had you, jealous you married a woman that you could love. But that is all over now. I just wanted you to know that should anything happen, you do not have to worry over your wife. I shall take care of her if it comes to that.”
Matthew’s gaze was intense. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why the change of heart?”
Mark would not look at him; he was focused on the approaching army.
“You have always been an excellent warrior, Matt,” the helmed head turned in his direction.
“But she has made you an excellent man. I have seen changes in you but do not ask me to describe them, for I cannot. But know that I have seen you change for the better. You are blessed, and as my brother, I am pleased. God knows you deserve some happiness in this world. I am glad that you have found it.”
Matthew could only smile. “Your wife adores you, too, Mark. Perhaps you should give yourself the chance for happiness such as I have found.”
“Perhaps.”
Matthew held out a gloved hand. Mark caught it and they held each other tightly, drawing strength from their brotherly bond.
But the moment was cut short as they realized the archers were still waiting for the signal to let fly.
Matthew was preparing to bellow the order when a messenger suddenly approached him from the rear.
He recognized the man as having been sent for Gaston several days prior.
Matthew passed his command over to Mark and went immediately to the messenger.
“Where’s de Russe?” Matthew asked before the man could speak.
“He is to the north with the Stanley armies, my lord,” the man was clearly exhausted. “They are lingering just out of battle range.”
Matthew’s eyebrows drew together. “What is he doing there? The battle is beginning.”
“He says to tell you that he must speak with you, my lord,” the man replied. “I am to take you to him.”
Frustrated, Matthew was forced to leave his post. Mounting his newly purchased Belgian charger, he tore off after the already-mounted messenger.
Gaston was more than a mile to the north, on a ridge overlooking the distant field of battle.
He was there with the Stanley brothers and their army of over five thousand men.
It was nearly as big as the contingent on the field in the distance.
Matthew found Gaston dismounted, helmless, standing next to his charger and quite calmly watching the far-away battle commence.
The thunder of cavalry and the shouts of men could already be heard.
Matthew’s charger kicked up clods of wet earth as it came to a rough halt. He dismounted heavily, his armor banging against itself as he walked straight for Gaston. It was a purposeful and perplexed march. The Dark Knight turned to him as he approached.
“Matt,” he greeted.
Matthew flipped open his visor, his blue eyes full of bewilderment. “What goes on here? What are you doing?”
Gaston was quite composed. “I am waiting for you.”
“So here I am. Why have you not joined Richard’s forces? The battle has begun.”
Gaston glanced back to the skirmish in the distance. “I can see that,” he said. “Oxford is leading the charge. Who is heading the front line of the opposition?”
Matthew did not quite catch the meaning of “opposition”. “Norfolk and myself. You should be there also.”
“And so I am not,” Gaston turned back to Matthew, an odd gleam to his eye. “Matthew, we have serious matters to discuss.”
“Now?” Matthew took another step, ending up very close to him. “I do not understand. What we have been anticipating for years is in front of our face. Why are you lingering here on the outskirts?”
“Because my fealty is no longer with Richard.”
It took Matthew several long, painful moments to process what his friend had said. Then, he could only manage one word. “What?”
Gaston remained collected, almost casual. He turned away from Matthew and began to pace, his massive boots leaving the wet grass smashed.
“Precisely that,” he replied. “My loyalty has turned. When Thomas and William Stanley move to support Tudor’s lines, I shall go with them.”
Matthew had no idea how to react. He shook his head as if he had not heard correctly. “If this is a joke, it is a very bad one. You must get mounted immediately and come with me.”
“Matt,” Gaston said his name as a hiss, as if to get his attention. “It is not a joke. And I have very valid reasons for this. I would hope, as my friend, that you would hear them.”
Matthew just stared at him. “If this is not a joke, then I cannot believe my ears. This is insane.”
“Will you hear me?”
“Hear what?” Matthew threw out his arms beseechingly.
“What is to hear? That you have betrayed your king on the cusp of battle?” When Gaston averted his gaze, looking at the ground like a stung child, Matthew could feel all of the blood rushing to his head.
This cannot be, he thought. “What, in God’s name, could you possibly tell me? ”
Gaston cocked his head, a sidelong glance to Matthew.
“I do not have to review my record for service to Richard,” he said quietly.
“It is impeccable. I was there at the death of King Edward, the father. I was there when the young princes were murdered. It was I, in fact, who carried the Duke of Gloucester’s body to his final resting place, murmuring prayers in the boy’s ear that he would forgive his uncle and forgive me. Do you not recall that?”