ALSO BY CONN IGGULDEN
THE WARS OF THE ROSES SERIES
Stormbird
THE EMPEROR SERIES
The Gates of Rome
The Death of Kings
The Field of Swords
The Gods of War
The Blood of Gods
THE CONQUEROR SERIES
Wolf of the Plains
Lords of the Bow
Bones of the Hills
Empire of Silver
Conqueror
Blackwater
Quantum of Tweed
BY CONN IGGULDEN AND HAL IGGULDEN
The Dangerous Book for Boys
The Pocket Dangerous Book for Boys: Things to Do
The Pocket Dangerous Book for Boys: Things to Know
The Dangerous Book for Boys Yearbook
BY CONN IGGULDEN AND DAVID IGGULDEN
The Dangerous Book of Heroes
BY CONN IGGULDEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY LIZZY DUNCAN
Tollins: Explosive Tales for Children
Tollins 2: Dynamite Tales
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Copyright © 2015 by Conn Iggulden
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Originally published in the United Kingdom by Michael Joseph, Penguin Group UK,
A Penguin Random House Company.
ISBN 978-1-101-62295-7
Endpaper map and battle plan copyright © Andrew Farmer, 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
To Victoria Hobbs, who tilts at windmills—and knocks them down
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am intensely grateful to the staff at Penguin Random House for producing such beautiful books—and then persuading people to “try a bit of medieval.” If you have picked this up to read, or, for that matter, downloaded it, I thank you too. Much has changed. Much remains the same. Finally, I must mention my son Cameron, who came up with the title at the eleventh hour.
CONTENTS
Also by Conn Iggulden
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Maps and Family Trees
List of Characters
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
PART TWO
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
EPILOGUE
Historical Note
MAPS AND FAMILY TREES
MAPS
England at the time of the Wars of the Roses
London
First Battle of St. Albans, 1455
FAMILY TREES
Royal Lines of England
House of Lancaster
House of York
House of Neville
House of Percy
House of Tudor
LIST OF CHARACTERS
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Visit http://bit.ly/1Jw5l7k for a larger version of this family tree.
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LIST OF CHARACTERS
MASTER ALLWORTHY Royal physician to Henry VI
ALPHONSE Mute servant to Vicomte Michel Gascault
MARGARET OF ANJOU/QUEEN MARGARET Daughter of René of Anjou, wife of Henry VI
JAMES TUCHET, BARON AUDLEY Veteran soldier and commander of the Queen’s Gallants
SAUL BERTLEMAN (BERTLE) Mentor of Derihew Brewer
DERIHEW (DERRY) BREWER Spymaster of Henry VI
HUMPHREY STAFFORD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM Supporter of Henry VI
CARTER Horseman in the retinue of Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury
CHARLES VII King of France, uncle of Henry VI
JOHN CLIFFORD, BARON CLIFFORD Son of Thomas de Clifford
THOMAS DE CLIFFORD, BARON CLIFFORD Supporter of Henry VI
WILLIAM CRIGHTON, LORD CRIGHTON Scottish nobleman who arranged the marriage of James II and Mary of Guelders
RALPH CROMWELL, BARON CROMWELL Chamberlain of the Household to Henry VI
MAUD CROMWELL (NÉE STANHOPE) Niece and heiress of Baron Cromwell
SIR ROBERT DALTON Swordsman and sparring partner of Edward, Earl of March
ANDREW DOUGLAS Scottish laird and ally of Henry VI
THOMAS PERCY, BARON EGREMONT Son of Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland
HENRY HOLLAND, DUKE OF EXETER Son-in-law of Richard, Duke of York
JOHN FAUCEBY Royal physician to Henry VI
WILLIAM NEVILLE, LORD FAUCONBERG Brother of Earl of Salisbury
SIR JOHN FORTESCUE Chief Justice of the King’s Bench
FOWLER Soldier at Battle of St. Albans
VICOMTE MICHEL GASCAULT French ambassador to the English court
SIR HOWARD GAVERICK Bondsman knight in the service of Earl of Warwick
SILENT GODWIN Franciscan friar
EDMUND GRAY, BARON GRAY OF RUTHIN Supporter of Henry VI
MARY OF GUELDERS Wife of James II of Scotland
WILLIAM HATCLYF Royal physician to Henry VI
HENRY VI King of England, son of Henry V
HOBBS Sergeant-at-arms, Windsor
SQUIRE JAMES Scout for Henry VI’s army at Battle of St. Albans
JAMESON Blacksmith and sparring partner of Edward, Earl of March
EDWARD PLANTAGENET, EARL OF MARCH Son of Richard, Duke of York
; SIR JOHN NEVILLE, Son of Earl of Salisbury, brother to Warwick
JOHN DE MOWBRAY, DUKE OF NORFOLK Supporter of Henry VI
HENRY PERCY, EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND Head of Percy family and defender of the border with Scotland
ELEANOR NEVILLE, COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND Wife of Henry Percy, sister of Earl of Salisbury
WILLIAM OLDHALL Chancellor and supporter of Richard, Duke of York
JASPER TUDOR, EARL OF PEMBROKE Half brother of Henry VI
BROTHER PETER Franciscan friar
RANKIN Manservant to Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury
EDMUND TUDOR, EARL OF RICHMOND Half brother of Henry VI
EDMUND PLANTAGENET, EARL OF RUTLAND Son of Richard, Duke of York
RICHARD NEVILLE, EARL OF SALISBURY Head of Neville family, grandson of John of Gaunt
ALICE MONTAGU, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY Wife of Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury
THOMAS DE SCALES, BARON SCALES Commander of the royal garrison in the Tower of London
MICHAEL SCRUTON Serjeant surgeon to Henry VI
EDMUND BEAUFORT, EARL, THEN DUKE OF SOMERSET Supporter of Henry VI
HENRY BEAUFORT, DUKE OF SOMERSET Son of Edmund Beaufort, supporter of Henry VI
WILLIAM DE LA POLE, DUKE OF SUFFOLK Soldier and courtier who arranged the marriage of Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou
WILFRED TANNER Smuggler and friend of Derry Brewer
SIR WILLIAM TRESHAM Speaker of the House of Commons
ANDREW TROLLOPE Captain of Earl of Warwick’s Calais garrison
TRUNNING Swordmaster to Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland
OWEN TUDOR Second husband of Catherine de Valois (widow of Henry V)
RICHARD NEVILLE, EARL OF WARWICK Son of Earl of Salisbury, later known as the Kingmaker
EDWARD OF WESTMINSTER Prince of Wales, son of Henry VI
RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK Head of house of York, great-grandson of Edward III
CECILY NEVILLE, DUCHESS OF YORK Wife of Richard, Duke of York, granddaughter of John of Gaunt
PROLOGUE
Vicomte Michel Gascault was certainly not a spy. He would have scorned the name if he had heard it used of him. Of course it went without saying that the French ambassador to the English court would report anything of interest to his monarch on his return. It was also true that Vicomte Gascault had considerable experience in the royal palaces of Europe as well as the field of war. He knew what King Charles of France might want to know and, with that in mind, Vicomte Gascault took careful note of all that went on around him, little though it was. Spies were grubby, low-born men, given to hiding in doorways and hissing secret passwords at each other. Vicomte Gascault, d’un autre côté—“on the other hand,” as the English said—was a gentleman of France, as far above such things as the sun above the earth.
Those and similar thoughts were all he had to amuse him in his idle hours. He was certain to mention to King Charles how he had been ignored for three full days, left to kick his heels in a sumptuous chamber in the Palace of Westminster. The servants sent to attend his person were not even well washed, he had noticed, though they came promptly enough. One of them positively reeked of horse and urine, as if he found his usual employment in the royal stables.
Still, it was true Gascault’s bodily needs were met, even if his ambassadorial ones were not. Each day began with his own retainers dressing him in the most gorgeous raiments and cloaks he possessed, choosing them from among the garments pressed into the enormous trunks he had brought from France. He had not yet been forced to repeat a combination of colors and if he had overheard one of the English scullions refer to him as the “French Peacock,” it bothered him not at all. Bright colors raised his mood and he had precious little else to while away the time. He did not like to think of the food they set out for him. It was clear enough that they had engaged a French cook; equally as clear that the man had no love of his countrymen. Gascault shuddered at the thought of some of the flaccid things that had appeared at his table.
The hours crept by like a funeral and he had long ago read every scrap of his official papers. By the light of a candle-lamp, he turned at last to a dun-colored book in his possession, marked throughout with his notes and comments. De Sacra Coena by Berengarius had become a favorite of Gascault’s. The treatise on the Last Supper had been banned by the Church, of course. Any argument that strayed into the mysteries of body and blood brought the attention of Papal hounds.
Gascault had long been in the habit of seeking out books destined for the fire, to set his thoughts aflame in turn. He rubbed his hands over the wrappings. The original cover had been stripped and burned to ashes, of course, with those ashes carefully crumbled so that no questing hand could ever guess what they had once been. The rough, stained leather was a sad necessity in an age where men took such delight in denouncing each other to their masters.
The summons, when it came at last, interrupted his reading. Gascault was used to the booming bell that rang each hour and half hour, startling him from sleep and spoiling his digestion at least as much as the poor pigeons that lay so limply on his dinner platter. He had kept no count but still knew it was late when the horse-servant, as he thought of him, came rushing into the rooms.
“Viscount Gas-cart, you are summoned,” the boy said.
Gascault gave no sign of irritation at the way he mangled a proud name. The boy was surely a simpleton and the Good Lord expected mercy for those poor fellows, set among their betters to teach compassion, or so Gascault’s mother had always said. With care, he laid his book on the arm of the chair and rose. His steward, Alphonse, was only a step behind the lad. Gascault let his eyes drift back to the book, knowing it would be enough of a signal for his servant to keep it from other hands in his absence. Alphonse nodded sharply, bowing low while the horse-boy stared in confusion at the dumb show between the two men.
Vicomte Gascault strapped on his sword and allowed Alphonse to drape his yellow cloak around his shoulders. When his gaze dropped once more to the chair, the book had somehow vanished. Truly, his servant was the soul of discretion and not simply because he lacked a tongue. Gascault inclined his head in thanks and swept out behind the boy, passing through the outer rooms and into the chilly corridor beyond.
A party of five men awaited him there. Four of them were evidently soldiers, wearing a royal tabard over mail. The last wore a cloak and tunic over hose, all as thick and well made as his own.
“Vicomte Michel Gascault?” the man said.
Gascault noted the perfect pronunciation and smiled.
“I have that honor. I am at your service . . . ?”
“Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury and lord chancellor. I must apologize for the late hour, but you are expected, my lord, in the royal chambers.”
Gascault fell easily into step at the man’s side, ignoring the soldiers clattering along in their wake. He had known stranger things than a midnight meeting in his career.
“To see the king?” he asked mischievously, watching the earl closely. Salisbury was not a young man, though he seemed wiry and in good health to the Frenchman’s eyes. It would not do to reveal how much the court of France knew of King Henry’s poor health.
“I am sorry to report that His Royal Highness, King Henry, is suffering with an ague, a temporary illness. I hope you will take no offense, but I am to bring you to the Duke of York this evening.”
“My lord Salisbury, I am so very sorry to hear such a thing,” Gascault replied, letting the words spill out. He saw Salisbury’s eyes tighten just a fraction and had to repress a smile. They both knew there were families in the English court with strong ties to France, whether by blood or titles. The idea that the French king would not know every detail of King Henry’s collapse was a game to be played between them and nothing more. The English king had been near senseless for months, fallen so deeply into a stupor that
he could not be raised to life. It was not for nothing that his lords had appointed one of their number as “Protector and Defender of the Realm.” Richard, Duke of York, was king in all but name and, in truth, Vicomte Gascault had no interest in meeting a royal lost in his dreaming. He had been sent to judge the strength of the English court and their willingness to defend their interests. Gascault allowed his pleasure to sparkle in his eyes for just an instant before snuffing the emotion. If he reported that they were weak and lost without King Henry, Gascault’s word alone would bring a hundred ships from France, to raid and burn every English port. The English had done the same to France for long enough, he reminded himself. Perhaps it was time at last that the devil had his due of them as well.
Salisbury led the small group along an endless stretch of corridors, then climbed two flights of stairs to the royal apartments on the floors above. Even at such a late hour, the Palace of Westminster was ablaze with lamps set just a few paces apart. Yet Gascault could smell damp in the air, a reek of ancient mold from having the river so close. As they reached the final, guarded door, he had to control the desire to straighten his cloak and collar one last time. Alphonse would not have let him leave with anything awry.
The soldiers were dismissed and the door opened by guards within. Salisbury extended his hand to allow the ambassador to enter before him.
“After you, Vicomte,” he said. His eyes were sharp, Gascault realized, as he bowed and went in. The man missed nothing and he reminded himself to be wary of him. The English were many things: venal, short-tempered, greedy, a whole host of sins. No one had ever called them stupid, however, not in all the history of the world. If God would only make it so! King Charles would have their towns and castles in his grip in just a single generation.
Salisbury closed the door softly at his back and Vicomte Gascault found himself in a smaller room than he had expected. Perhaps it was only right that a “Protector and Defender” would not allow himself the trappings of a royal court, yet the stillness of that room made a shudder pass down Gascault’s back. The windows were black with the night outside and the man who rose to greet him was dressed in the same color, almost lost in the shadows of low-burning lamps as he came forward.