The Dreams of Kings Read online

  The Dreams of Kings

  David K Saunders

  Copyright © David K Saunders 2014

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

  Published by Shadenet Publishing 2014

  www.shadenetpublishing.co.uk

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise – without written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  The names, characters, places and events are either products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Samantha Groom

  [email protected]

  Cover picture by kind permission of the Guildhall Art Gallery, City of London. ‘Sanctuary’ (Edward IV and Lancastrian Fugitives at Tewkesbury Abbey) by Richard Burchett

  Maps by www.illustrativemaps.co.uk

  Also available as a paperback

  For my wife, Maggie

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a novel is a solitary process but to finally cross the finishing line with a finished book requires the help, encouragement, expertise, and patience of others. So I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you to these special people who have made ‘The Dreams of Kings’ the book it is. Without them, this book would not be here for you to read.

  Many thanks to June Polson for all her hard work in the typing of the early drafts, which gave me the encouragement to carry on.

  To my golfing buddy, Mike Watson, for his tremendous effort in the reading of the early manuscript, not once, but twice. His constructive criticism, suggested changes, and enthusiasm, improved the book immensely.

  To my lovely wife, Maggie-May, for her spell-checking skills, the reading and re-reading of endless chapters, and her never-ending patience in listening to her husband talk endlessly about characters, battles, and plots.

  To my son, Luke, and his partner, Dawn, for their expertise in putting together the Yorkist and Lancastrian family trees, plus the website for the book.

  Lastly, my most grateful thanks goes to Sue Shade, editor extraordinaire, who has corrected, amended, suggested, and checked, every word, line, page, and chapter. The book is a testament to the skill of a brilliant editor and I give my sincere thanks for her wonderful effort in making ‘The Dreams of Kings’ the book it has finally become.

  David Saunders

  21 April 2014

  Contents

  Map 1: British Historic Locations

  Map 2: French Historic Locations

  Table 1: The Houses of York and Neville

  Table 2: The Houses of Lancaster, Tudor, and Beaufort

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Map 1: British Historic Locations

  Map 2: French Historic Locations

  Prologue

  The Manor House, Barton-le-Clay, Bedfordshire

  23 May 1455

  Fourteen-year-old Simon Langford heard the sound of many horsemen approaching, and assumed that it was his father returning from battle. Full of excitement, he had dashed from the house towards the approaching dust cloud. As the horsemen came into view, he realised it was not his father’s party, for they wore the colours of an unknown knight. The group rode compact and fast – each horse moving in smooth, fluid unison with those around it as if they had become of one creature – each a component part of this swift, sinister force.

  Simon stepped back into the treeline as they passed. He became fearful; his stomach turned over. He saw that they carried the blood of battle on their armour and weapons. There was a ruthless purpose in their movement and they were heading straight for the house. Fear entered Simon’s body and he raced after them, his heart pounding.

  He came upon the riders as they dismounted. Keeping his distance, he watched as two of his father’s old servants came out of the house to confront this armed force. They each carried an old rusty sword, but due to their age, these were more for show than for action. Two of the dismounted horsemen walked slowly towards them, their swords drawn. Simon stood perfectly still. He was waiting to hear them speak, but no words were spoken. He watched with horror as their swords arched upwards – the move was sudden and swift. The two old servants staggered backwards dropping their rusty weapons. In that blur of movement, having been sliced open from crotch to chin, they started screaming.

  Simon dropped to his knees and covered his ears. The two bloody swords that had disembowelled these old men flashed through the air in perfect, smooth arcs. The screaming stopped abruptly as their heads parted from their bodies. The mutilated corpses fell forward into a lake of blood, followed by complete silence. The horsemen had witnessed an act of great savagery, but it seemed to Simon as if it were only a minor irritation, like swatting a fly. Their brutalised minds had extinguished all conscience.

  Their captain started barking out orders. ‘I want the house secured,’ he ordered. ‘If any resist, kill them.’

  ‘What about the women?’ asked one of the men.

  ‘Do what is required to subdue them,’ replied the captain.

  The men knew exactly what he meant, and smiled. Lust glowed in their eyes.

  The captain ordered half the men to sweep round to the left of the house and the other half to the right. He instructed that every member of the household be lined up in front of the house – be they dead or alive. He and two officers then strode through the front door and disappeared into the dark interior.

  Simon sat on his haunches. Now alone, he stared at the bloody remains of the two servants. The speed of the killing had mesmerised him. Blood was flowing on to the flagstones, forming a circular sea of red around the grisly remains. His mind was stunned; his thoughts moved through a thick fog of disbelief. He was rooted to the spot.

  A high-pitched scream chilled his heart. He turned his head and saw Anne, one of the kitchen maids, bolting from the house. She was caught halfway across the yard by three soldiers. They carried her, screaming, over to some large wooden barrels where they tied her, face down. Simon could hear her desperate sobs as they ripped and cut her clothes away. His mind whirled with despair. They must be the forces of the Devil, he thought. Why has God deserted us? He heard more despairing screams from around the house – what was happening to Anne was happening everywhere. The realisation made him start to sweat as he had just remembered where his mother and two younger sisters were. He launched himself from the ground and sprinted into the house. As he passed through the front door, he heard his mother scream.

  The darkness of the hallway slowed Simon’s pace enough for him to glimpse a small, sharp, hunting knife, lying beside a bowl of fruit on the hallway table. He smoothly picked it up as he passed, and slipped it through his belt in the small of his back. Raised voices emanated from the dining hall, and without a thought, he rushed in.

  Simon’s eyes flared with anger as he scanned the room. Standing to his right, stood his two younger sisters. They were tight up against the wall, their young faces cut and bruised. They stood in comp
lete silence, their cheeks wet with tears. Each had the tip of a sword pressed against their young throats. The two henchmen, who had accompanied the captain into the house, held these swords and stood poised, awaiting the order to strike.

  A large oak table stood in the centre of the room, and standing behind the chair at the far end was Simon’s mother, her face showing loathing and disgust, her eyes ablaze with defiance.

  On the left of the room, positioned halfway along the table, stood the unknown knight – the leader of the pack of savages. His sword was drawn and pointed towards Simon’s mother. She hissed defiance at them.

  ‘Oh…such brave soldiers…your mothers and wives would be so proud of you,’ she said. ‘Is this how you show your courage? By murdering old men? By raping young girls? By beating and then threatening to kill my young innocent daughters. I know you have murdered my husband!’ Then, her voice rising in anger, she flung out her arm and pointed towards the leader. ‘You scum would never have killed William in rightful combat. Such cowardly assassins like you have no honour, or God. May you all burn in Hell for eternity!’

  Simon gasped – his father was dead?

  The leader swung round and stared at Simon. ‘So, this is your son,’ he sneered. ‘I will deal with him as I dealt with your husband.’ With his hand, he made a cutting motion across his neck. The two henchmen sniggered.

  The leader turned his back on Simon to address his mother. ‘My name is Sir Thomas Raket, and I am now the master of this house and its chattels and lands. It has been granted to me by the Earl of Warwick as payment for my loyalty, and you, are now dispossessed of all you hold dear. You are destitute.’ He took a step towards her. With narrowed eyes and malevolence in his voice, he hissed, ‘If you do not reveal where the gold and coin are concealed, you will watch your children die.’

  Lady Langford stared silently back, hatred in her eyes.

  As Sir Thomas Raket whipped his sword through the air, it opened a small wound on Lady Langford’s cheek. She gasped with shock as blood trickled down her face like a red tear.

  ‘You will talk to me,’ Sir Thomas Raket snarled, the sword hovering in front of her face.

  Lady Langford stared unflinchingly at him. ‘Death with honour is finer for me and my children, than to betray my husband to devils like you.’

  Sir Thomas Raket raised his arm into the air. ‘If you don’t talk by the time I count to five, I will drop my arm, and your daughters will die, followed by your son.’

  Simon stared at his mother. He saw the defiance radiating from her, but as she looked at him and his sisters, he saw the pain in her eyes, and her resolve starting to crumble. Simon knew she would reveal what the monster wanted to know – his mother would not stand there and watch her innocent lambs slaughtered – but her bravery right up to this moment had filled him with courage. He heard the monster start to count and with a Herculean effort, Simon vaulted on to the oak table.

  As he landed, he smoothly pulled the knife from its hiding place in his belt. He darted along the table and launched himself on to the back of his father’s murderer, his legs wrapped around the man’s waist. As the blade of Simon’s knife cut into Sir Thomas Raket’s neck, the counting stopped. The man stood stock still. Simon whispered into his ear, ‘Tell your men to lower their swords.’

  Sir Thomas Raket did as he was bid.

  ‘Mother, take the girls into the hallway!’ urged Simon.

  As Lady Langford gathered her daughters and ran from the room, Simon spoke to the two henchmen. ‘Drop your swords and go down to the far end of the room.’

  They both looked at their captain, who nodded vigorously. The two swords clattered on to the floor and the men moved to the far end of the room.

  Simon told the captain to back up towards the other end of the room to where the door was situated. Once there, Simon, with all his young strength, sliced the knife deep across the captain’s throat.

  The captain made a gurgling sound and fell to his knees, blood spurting from his neck.

  Simon slipped off his back and cried, ‘For my father!’ before ramming the knife into the captain’s back. Then, stepping through the doorway, he slammed the heavy oak door shut behind him and turned the key.

  He turned away from the door to be met by his mother’s embrace. He held her tightly; his heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst. His lungs were straining to gulp air into his body; his mind stunned by the terrifying events in the dining hall, and at what he had done. His two young sisters clung to him, their little hands forming tight fists as they held on to his jacket. Slowly, Simon’s eyes focused on the blood that covered his hands, and the sight jolted him into action. Releasing his mother, he stepped back. ‘We must leave now, if we are to live,’ he said, with urgency in his voice.

  ‘But how?’ questioned his mother. ‘These filthy savages are all around the house.’

  ‘We will use the secret servants’ passage,’ said Simon. ‘It is unlikely that they have discovered it; they have been too intent on satisfying their foul lust.’

  The servants’ passage ran through the centre of the house. They could move around unseen, going from the kitchens to the dining hall, or service rooms to bedrooms, without using the main halls. It also allowed access to the stables at the rear of the manor.

  Simon, his mother, and sisters, were soon fleeing down the narrow passage. They reached the stables unseen. There, two estate workers, who had been hiding in the rafters, helped them quickly saddle up their horses. Simon, with one young sister sitting in front of him, and his mother, with the other in front of her, made good their escape. The two estate workers who had helped also now rode with them. They travelled swiftly, away from the manor house, their hearts heavy with sorrow for those left behind, knowing they were powerless to help them.

  Simon felt the tears sting his eyes as thoughts of his father flooded into his mind. The rhythmic movement of his horse lulled him into a trance-like state where a wound of sorrow cut into his heart. The physical world around him disappeared and only the faces of his father and Sir Thomas Raket, swirled around in his thoughts. The trauma of the last hour had fragmented his emotions; he wished he could feel numb inside, to escape the reality of this pain and despair. He knew his mother and sisters would be feeling the same – if only he could make it right for them and put everything back as it had been a few hours ago. It was then Simon saw the riders in the distance. He slowed his horse; his mother and the others did likewise.

  The advancing horsemen split into three groups: the centre unit of thirty men headed straight towards Simon, whilst two smaller groups, comprising of ten men each, moved out from the main force. One group headed left, the other right, forming a pincer movement. Simon knew that there was no escape. His mind frantic, he looked towards his mother. She saw his bewildered look of confusion and pointed towards the advancing horsemen. ‘They’re our men returning from the battle!’ she cried. ‘Look, they’re wearing your father’s colours.’

  The horsemen slowed as they recognised Lady Langford and her family. Simon closed his eyes. His body suddenly ached with weariness. They were safe.

  Part One

  1461–1464

  Chapter 1

  Friendship, Love, and Spies

  Bamburgh Castle, Northumberland

  28 June 1461

  As Archbishop Bourchier lowered the crown on to the anointed head of Edward IV, proclaiming him King of England, Simon Langford stepped ashore at the port of Newcastle. He had taken passage on a trading ship, which had brought a cargo of pewter candleholders and drinking vessels from the port of London to Newcastle, for distribution throughout the north of Yorkshire.

  He arrived at Bamburgh Castle as a glorious red sunset filled the evening sky. The castle was built on a rocky outcrop stretching out into the sea, and in the evening light it gave the illusion that it had been formed by God, straight out of the granite shoreline. It loomed high above Simon, dominating the countryside.

  Margaret of
Anjou’s senior administrator, Sir John Fortescue, interviewed Simon before granting him an audience with her at eight of the clock that evening, in her private apartments. In the intervening time, he was given a private room with washing facilities and clean clothes. After his long journey, he was appreciative of these small courtesies. After washing off the sea salt, and the dust of the road, he dressed in the fresh clothes that were laid out for him. They smelled slightly of lavender. The luxury of these clean garments on his cleansed body relaxed him mentally and physically. He was now refreshed and keen to meet Margaret of Anjou, Queen consort of England, face to face. He had heard much about her – how she was a tigress in defending her royal crown. Her passionate and courageous French temperament could bewitch and enchant even the most flint-hearted of men, and the most soft-hearted could be driven mad with rage by her actions. Simon wondered if she would bewitch him or drive him mad.

  He entered her private chambers at the appointed time with a feeling of apprehension. Margaret was sitting in a tall-backed chair close to the window. All Simon could see was her black silhouette framed by the last rays of the sun. He bowed low.

  ‘Come closer,’ Margaret said, in French.

  As he moved across the room, she pointed to a spot in front of her.

  ‘Stand there,’ she commanded.

  Simon did as he was bid. He was surprised that she was alone. Her hands went together as if in prayer. She leaned closer to him, and rested her chin on the tips of her fingers.

  Simon could see her clearly now. Her long blonde hair was tied back, tightly framing her face in a ring of gold. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but her alluring grey eyes were cold and they inspected him from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, moving up and down his body as she evaluated his worth. Finally, she leaned back in the chair and rested her hands on the arms.