Richard III Read online

  I Was There…

  RICHARD III

  While this book is based on real characters and actual historical events, some situations and people are fictional, created by the author.

  Scholastic Children’s Books,

  Euston House, 24 Eversholt Street,

  London NW1 1DB, UK

  A division of Scholastic Ltd

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  First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2014

  This electronic edition published 2014

  Text © Stuart Hill, 2014

  Illustrations by Peter Cottrill

  © Scholastic Ltd, 2014

  All rights reserved

  eISBN 978 1407 14708 6

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical or otherwise, now known or hereafter invented, without the express prior written permission of Limited.

  Produced in the UK by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  The right of Stuart Hill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  www.scholastic.co.uk

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER ONE

  My name is Richard Plantagenet, Prince of the House of York. I’m the Duke of Gloucester and, although I am only eleven years old, I am already a knight.

  I live in Middleham Castle in Yorkshire, where I’m under the protection of the Earl of Warwick, which means I live in his household as his ‘ward’. This makes him responsible for my training and education, and this is why, like many other aristocratic boys, I’m also being trained to be a soldier. But so far I haven’t drawn my sword in battle.

  I don’t mean I haven’t any experience of the war; that’s been part of my life since the day I was born. There have been two powers fighting for the crown ever since my father, the Duke of York, proved he had more right to rule than the King, Henry VI. Those who support Henry call themselves the Lancastrians of the House of Lancaster, and we are the Yorkists of the House of York. The two sides have been fighting on and off for over nine years now and, like all wars, power and victory swings from one side to the other.

  This fact was made very clear to me when my father died fighting for the crown in the Battle of Wakefield in 1460. I had to flee for my life with my mother and my brother George to the Low Countries, an area made up by the lands of Belgium, Luxemburg and the Netherlands.

  People ask me if I was sad when my father was killed and if I miss him, and of course I do, but he was a man of power and rule and I hardly ever saw him. His life was spent helping to govern the country and then struggling to gain the right to rule. Being a prince makes you different; you live your life in ways that others probably can’t understand. You are brought up knowing that you have the right to power, and you’re taught that this, along with honour, are the two most important things in life.

  But fortunes have a habit of changing swiftly in times of war. After my father died, my older brother, Edward, became the head of the House of York, and soon won a great victory over the Lancastrians at the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross in Herefordshire.

  Of course it didn’t end there, and the Lancastrians beat us at St Albans. The entire country was in chaos, nobody knew who really held power, but then when the city of London gave support to my brother, the Battle of Towton soon followed. Once again, Edward was victorious after a vicious struggle in which thousands died. He was declared King in 1461, and since then most of the fighting has stopped.

  All of this meant I was able to come home to England again. So as you can see, I’ve known all about the war ever since I could think for myself and understand what people around me were saying.

  But actually taking part in the fighting itself… that’s different. That’s completely different.

  As I’ve already said, like all boys of my age and from my background, I’m training as a soldier, a process that began over two years ago when I was nine years old. I can use a sword and dagger, a mace (or war-hammer), ride a warhorse and shoot a longbow (the full-size bow and arrow used in battle) better than almost anyone else my age. But I’ve yet to use these skills in a real battle. Training with a professional soldier called a Sergeant-at-Arms who knows you and treats you with respect because you’re the King’s brother is obviously nothing like a real battle where people want to kill you. So I don’t know how I’d react; would I freeze and not be able to even lift a sword, as sometimes happens? Would I be a coward and run away? And if I did neither of these things and fought like a Prince of the House of York really should, how would I feel if I killed a man?

  Well, one May morning in 1464 a series of events began that would quickly lead me to my first battle, where I’d find the answers to all of these questions.

  I have my own rooms in the main keep of Middleham Castle. This is the huge square building like a tower often found in the heart of a castle. It has massively high and thick walls, slit windows for archers to shoot from and a fighting platform at the very top where soldiers can defend the castle from attackers behind the protection of the strong battlements that run around the very top of the wall and stick up like square teeth. Here the defenders can shoot arrows down on the enemy and then hide from any returned fire. But the keep is also the place where the Earl of Warwick and other members of the household have their quarters. Most of them are luxurious, with fine furnishings, tapestries and in some cases even carpets, instead of the woven mats that are made of the rushes that grow along the riverbank.

  My rooms are amongst the best in the entire keep, but on that particular May morning I didn’t have time to think of anything but my lessons. I was sitting at a table reading boring law books in preparation for Master Guillard’s lesson. I suppose Master Guillard is a good man… in his way. Like most tutors he’s a priest, and he’s almost as dry and dusty as his books. If you get anything wrong in his lessons, his face shrivels up in disapproval like an apple that’s been in the store cupboard for too long. And then he’ll have what he calls “a quiet word” with my guardian, the Earl of Warwick.

  I was determined this wasn’t going to happen today, so I tried to concentrate on the boring tangle of French and Latin words. A sudden thump on my door made me spin round in my chair as Francis Lovell almost leapt into my room.

  Baron Francis Lovell is my closest friend and after his father died he also became a ward of the Earl of Warwick, just like me. We were always playing jokes on each other, but he wasn’t joking now. His face was red with excitement:

  “The Lancastrians are moving! There’s going to be a battle!”

  I leapt to my feet, knocking over my chair with a clatter. Our enemy was looking for a fight again. “Where?”

  “Not sure yet, but somewhere near Hexham. Our army’s marching out to stop them; a messenger’s just arrived. He said they should catch up with them there!”

  “Where exactly is the messenger? What else did he say?” I could feel that my face was as red as my friend’s, and for a
moment I almost forgot the pain in my back caused by the curve of my spine that no doctor has been able to do anything about.

  “He’s in the Great Hall with the Earl of Warwick. They were still talking about soldiers and equipment when I came to get you. I think we’re sending a small troop of knights to help. COME ON!”

  Francis rushed to the door and then, remembering, stopped and turned to wait for me. I hated it when people treated me differently because of my back, so I waved him on impatiently. The physicians may think that the curve in my spine’s getting slowly worse, but I was determined not to let it slow me down.

  When we reached the Great Hall it seemed to be full of everyone who lived in Middleham castle, from the Commander of the Guard, to the lowliest of the kitchen drudges, but it was eerily silent as everyone strained to hear what the messenger had to say. I strode forward knowing they’d part to let me through; I am the brother of the King after all.

  We reached the centre of the hall where Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, sat in a high-backed chair. The messenger stood in front of Warwick like a schoolboy trying to explain to the master why he hadn’t learnt his lessons, but he immediately stopped talking when he saw people bowing to me and parting to let me through.

  “Ah Richard! I’m glad you’re here, this’ll be of interest to you,” said the Earl in his usual cool tones. “And to your shadow, Lovell.” When he smiled, his mouth curled, but his eyes never stopped watching you.

  I’ve heard many people describe Warwick as a pleasant man, but I think he’s cold and uses his smile and false friendliness to get the power and wealth he wants.

  He stood and bowed his head to me, then waved up a chair.

  “My back’s not so crippled that I need to sit, my Lord Earl,” I said quietly.

  “I had thought of no such a thing,” Warwick answered. “I’ve been sitting as you can see, and I’m as healthy as a bull.”

  “But old, or at least older than me.”

  The Earl looked at me. “Older is certainly true.”

  “Francis, there’s a chair here for you,” I said, turning to my friend and holding his eye.

  Lovell nodded and secretly smiled. “Thank you, my Lord Prince, and thank you too, my Lord Earl.” He emphasised the titles to show who was more powerful.

  Warwick frowned for a moment, knowing we were trying to make him look small, but he was too clever to show his feelings for long, and he bowed his head again, then waved Francis to the chair.

  Warwick turned back to the messenger who stood waiting patiently. He was obviously a soldier and wore a surcoat, which is a loose robe, over a shirt of mail under his travel-stained cloak. “Go on with what you were saying,” the Earl ordered.

  “Almost all’s been said, my Lord,” the man answered. “The enemy’s force is quite small, between five and eight thousand men; we expect to intercept them somewhere near Hexham, unless they change course.”

  Warwick looked thoughtful, then he turned and looked directly at me. “A force of eight thousand… A good size for a pair of young soldiers in training to earn their blooding.”

  “You’re going to send us to the battle?” I asked, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. Every young soldier dreams of his ‘blooding’, the time when he fights his first battle and kills his first man.

  “You and an escort of a hundred or so cavalry, yes. You’re a little young yet to fight, but you can witness the action from close range and see exactly what happens on the dance floor of war. My brother, John Neville, commands our force; I’ll send word that you and Baron Lovell are on your way.”

  I looked at Francis and grinned and he nodded happily back. We were going to battle! Now we’d find out if all the training had worked. Now we’d find out if we were really soldiers of the House of York!

  CHAPTER TWO

  We couldn’t wait to get out of the Great Hall and back to my chamber so that we could discuss it all. As we hurried away through the crowds, a young girl stepped out in front of us. She’d been hidden away amongst the shadows near the door, but she stepped into the light and smiled.

  It was Anne Neville and, even though she was the Earl of Warwick’s daughter, she was kind, generous and our friend. I seized her hand and dragged her along with us. “Where’s your chaperone?” I asked, knowing that all young ladies always had an older attendant to make sure nothing happened to them.

  “She thinks I’m in my chambers practising my embroidery.”

  “So why aren’t you?” Francis asked.

  “Boring!”

  “It might be boring, but it’s what young aristocratic ladies are expected to do,” he answered as we hurried along the winding corridors of the castle and out into the courtyard.

  “Perhaps so, but it’s still boring, so when I heard a messenger had arrived I thought I’d sneak in to hear what he had to say and to find out what you and Richard were doing.”

  “That’s Prince Richard to you, Mistress Anne Neville,” said Francis. “And I’m Baron Lovell, in fact I’m the eighth Baron Lovell.”

  By this time we’d crossed the courtyard and were climbing the spiral staircase in the keep that led to my chamber, but Anne, who was as clever as a family of foxes, managed to curtsy in an exaggerated manner.

  “Please forgive me, my Lords,” she said sarcastically. “How could I not have noticed how wonderful and superior you both are? Will you ever forgive me?”

  I grabbed her hand again. “Come on, you two can finish bickering later.”

  When we reached my chambers, there was a soldier guarding my door as usual. The Earl of Warwick said this was because of my status as the King’s brother, but it always made me feel like a hostage. I suppose I was being silly, the guard never stopped me coming and going, but I also knew that one word from Warwick could turn my guard into my jailer.

  We burst into my rooms and dragged chairs up to the fire that burned brightly in the grate. The Earl was proud of the fact that Middleham Castle had so many chambers with their own fireplaces, but today we weren’t interested in the wonders of modern building.

  “So what did the messenger say?” Anne asked eagerly.

  “You mean you don’t know?” I was surprised. “But I thought you were at the back of the hall.”

  “I was, but with so many people crammed into the place and muffling the voices, I couldn’t hear details. All I know is that the Lancastrians are somewhere nearby.”

  “They’re in Northumbria, perhaps a two-day march away,” said Francis. “They won’t attack here, Middleham’s too strong. But there’s talk of them advancing on Hexham.”

  “Hexham? But that already has a strong force of soldiers in case the Scots invade!” said Anne, who never spoke like a girl and had always understood war and politics as well as any boy. She was actually only eight years old but spoke, thought and acted like someone much older. “They’d need a massive army to take the place. Do we know their numbers?”

  “Between five and eight thousand,” I said.

  She snorted just like Warwick, her father. “Then they won’t be taking Hexham.”

  “No,” I agreed, “But they are in our territory and their numbers are great enough to be dangerous. That’s why an army’s being sent to intercept them.”

  “And me and Richard are going to be part of it!” Francis suddenly blurted.

  Anne’s hands flew to her mouth and her face went crimson. She obviously hadn’t heard that bit of news either. “You and Richard are going to be…!” She turned to me. “Is this true?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Your father’s sending us with a small force of cavalry to offer support.”

  She stood and paced between her chair and the window, then she stopped and laughed. “Your first blooding! Oh, I wish I was going with you! You must remember everything and tell me all about it! Write it down if you have to! I want to know every detail; what it feels like, what it sounds like, what it smells like even! Oh I wish, I wish, I wish I was going with you!”

 
; Well you can’t,” said Francis leaning back in his chair and stretching his feet out to the fireplace. “You’re a girl, and girls don’t fight.”

  Anne frowned at him fiercely and I suddenly felt sorry for her. Daughters of powerful lords like Warwick had no real choice in their lives. When they were young they were taught how to read and after that they learnt to embroider, spin and weave, and perhaps to sing and play prettily on a musical instrument. Then, when they were old enough, they’d be married to some old man to make an alliance between her own family and some other powerful group of lords.

  “If girls did fight I’m sure you’d be one of the fiercest,” I said, wanting to give her something. “And anyway, Francis and I won’t be fighting either. We’re being sent to watch, that’s all.”

  Francis laughed, “Which is still more than a girl’s allowed to do.” but Anne ignored him and took my hand for a moment and squeezed it before letting it drop.

  “So when do you set out?” she asked, her eyes shining.

  “Tomorrow morning at first light.” I said.

  “I’ll be there to see you go,” she said determinedly.

  “Good, I’d like that.” I answered.

  CHAPTER THREE

  There was still an afternoon of training to be got through before we left, and Sergeant-at-Arms Langham was determined to make sure that Francis and I were truly ready for our first battle. Which meant hard work… and lots of it!

  The Earl of Warwick has several boys training to be knights in his household, so when Francis and I walked out into the lists – the fenced-off training ground – the place was crowded with boys practising fighting with the two-handed sword, the mace and the dagger. Off to the side of the yard, the long narrow shooting range called the butts was in use as the servants of knights known as squires and some younger boys called pages practised their skills as archers. Occasionally one of the men-at-arms who were assistants to Sergeant Langham would bawl out someone who’d sent an arrow on a wild flight over the wall and then a boy would go scampering off to make sure he hadn’t hit anyone.