Pontefract Castle, December 1460
The Duke of Somerset stood over the table and looked over the map with many of his men. Included were his half brother Lord Ros as well as the Earl of Northumberland and Lord Clifford. Their words echoed off the high walls of the hall as each tried to figure out how to lure Duke Richard from the safety of his castle at Sandal. They were interrupted when Sir Alexander Hody entered. A veteran soldier of the west country, the no nonsense knight spoke it plainly, “The Lord does sense a truce. He continues to send out foraging parties and one was particularly instructive.”
The Earl of Northumberland found a grin, “One would have thought the skirmish to Worksop would have disabused him of this notion.”
“He did not expect us,” Somerset answered quickly.
Lord Ros smiled, “Then good that you rode ahead of your men, brother. It did take him completely unawares.”
“It would have been better had he been there,” the Duke replied, “We might have ended this instead of allowing him to seek the comfort of his keep.”
Lord Clifford followed, “Yet he may not stay there forever, my Lord. He sends out men to forage as his supplies are surely dwindling.”
“As said, my Lord...” Sir Alexander suggested, “...some of these be not foragers but messengers. Three such parties exited with the others and we did capture one. They carried with them letters to the Earl of March begging him to come in relief.”
Northumberland seemed pleased, “Then he is desperate indeed.”
“It has been a fortnight,” Somerset did not share in the notion, “He may have already sent word and thus plays for time. If our spies are correct, York holds only twelve thousand to him at most. For the now, we hold the numbers. Yet if Ned arrives...”
“Then you may rethink battle?” Queen Margaret entered the hall followed by Sir Andrew Trollope.
“Of course not,” Somerset looked to her with determination, “I will fight no matter, yet we would do better without his reinforcements.”
Trollope replied, “He calls for more than his son, my Lord. The Baron Neville tells that York has sent a summons to him.”
“Should not the Lord of Salisbury know that this nephew loves him not?” Lord Ros questioned, “Neither Neville nor Westmorland.”
“He may or may not,” Trollope answered, “Yet we may use it, my Lord. Baron Neville holds to him eight thousand men. Should he answer York in the positive, it may be a smart way to lure the Duke from his castle.”
Margaret smirked, “Surely our provocations have not otherwise. I sent a herald just this morning to call out that the Duke is wanting of courage in suffering himself to be tamely braved by a woman.”
“Might you allow us to carry out your wishes, Your Grace?” the Duke of Somerset sighed, “If we hold this charge, I think us all capable.”
Margaret shifted to pour herself some wine, “Capable of delay no better than that of York. We hold nearly twenty thousand to us already. Place the castle to siege and serve him out, my Lord.”
“Madam...” the Earl of Northumberland replied, “...were it so easy, we would have done so already. It is the dead of winter and the weather does as much as any siege engine. A soldier does know to take every advantage at the least cost. Time will out, my Lady.”
She peered to all of them with a crooked brow, “Not if the Duke’s son is allowed to engage.”
The knight Trollope spoke up, “Impatience is the enemy of any good soldier, my Lady. Yet I do think to agree. My Lord Somerset...it has been a lonely Christmastide for this Duke. His supplies dwindle as we see and he is blind to our forces though he knows that we are here. I say again...use Lord Neville as the bait. Send him to York as his relief and then see how he reacts.”
“I still believe that Salisbury will not buy it,” Lord Ros suggested, “And even if there be no love between cousins, they are still Nevilles.”
Margaret tired of this, “My Lords, I am indeed impatient. I shall defer to the wisdom of men for I have not seen battle, yet I do know when it is time to put down the animal when it is hobbled. York is wounded, sirs. After Worksop, he is desperate for he did underestimate our strength. We hold with us Lords aplenty from Devon all the way to Wiltshire...”
The Earl of Somerset groaned, “Not much help there.”
“Nevertheless,” Margaret skewed a brow, “They are rank and file where York holds little but his brother in law. He even lost his cannon when the muds caused them to turn back to London. I heeded your call for patience the last time, my Lord Somerset. I shall not do so again. York cannot be allowed to escape the noose.”
Lord Clifford looked to the map, “Sirs, we are less than ten miles from Sandal Castle. There are woods aplenty to either side leading towards the green at Wakefield. If it be true that York knows not of our true position, then we should offer him the bait as suggested. He knows that you are here, my Lord Somerset. Show yourself in full and follow the advice given by Sir Trollope. The rest of us shall hold in reserve and once he has committed, then we shall cut him down.”
“The Duke is not a fool,” Somerset argued, “And he likely knows that the Queen is here as well if her messages be any guide.”
Margaret shrugged, “I could not resist.”
“It has not provoked him, as you say,” he answered her and then looked to the rest, “Yet...we cannot allow the Earl of March to arrive as reinforcement.”
Northumberland gave nod, “I think to agree with Lord Clifford. If it fails, then we remain where we are and he inside his keep. Yet if he bites, my Lord...”
“He will bite,” Margaret seemed assured, “Especially if he believes that I am to here. He will hope to defeat you and then turn his wrath towards myself. It is his goal and we all know it.”
Somerset looked again to the map, “I am not as convinced. I remember St. Albans well as do a good many of you. We can take no thing for granted.”
“Then you would rather wait for defeat when victory is offered to you, sir?” the Queen questioned.
“I would rather be sure,” Somerset replied but then looked to the Lords, “Yet time is of the essence. Send word to Lord Neville and have him go forth with the ruse. I dare say, you may try it yourself, Trollope. He’s seen you switch sides already. In his desperation, he may well believe that you do so again.”
Trollope gave nod, “I do not believe that I can keep playing that card, my Lord. Yet I shall try.”
“We must use every trick,” Margaret was certain.
The Duke of Somerset held to his men, “It looks to be a cold day, my Lords. I suppose we risk nothing in the trying.”
- 3
