THE LION OF THE NORTH
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
PROLOGUE
March 29, 1461 A.D.
Battle of Towton, Yorkshire
Ascension of Edward IV
“There he is,”a knight in snow-covered armor hissed. “Do you see him?”
His companion, with a bushy red beard and dirty blond hair, was focused on a copse of white-encrusted trees off to the south. It was early morning and snow was falling so heavily that it was as if a thick blanket of the stuff had been tossed onto them. Breath hung in the air from both man and beast alike, and the sun, though risen, was shielded by heavy clouds.
“I see him,” the knight with the bushy beard said. “He has already deployed all of the men, including his brother. He will not be alone much longer.”
“Are you sure Atticus is away?”
“I am sure. I saw him ride off.”
“Then we must move quickly. We promised Mowbray we would start with Titus.”
“He really wants Atticus.”
“I know. But if we can sway Titus, Atticus should follow.”
Spurring their horses forward, the pair charged down a small and snow-covered incline, heading towards the right flank of the massive Lancastrian army that was poised on the rise, waiting for the Yorkist opposition to move into place. This day had been weeks and months in the making, years even, as the largest army England had ever seen upon her own soil was moving into position to decide the fate of the country. Would Henry VI remain on the throne, or would his young cousin, Edward, wrest the royal reins of command? Well over seventy thousand men would soon decide upon an answer. Hell was coming and it was coming very soon. With that in mind, the two knights made haste towards their target in the distance.
Sir Titus de Wolfe was standing next to his big, brown charger, a mean horse with a fierce temper. He was rather fond of the beast, though, and had been feeding him small green apples and handfuls of oats throughout the morning, an incentive for the horse to obey him. He needed persuasion. As Titus muttered a last few encouraging words to the horse, he had no idea he was being stalked.
The end, for him, was nearer than he knew.
“De Wolfe!”
Titus turned towards the sound of his name, seeing two Northumberland knights riding up to him. These were men under his command, men he had fought with for a few years. He knew and trusted them. He put the apples for his horse back in his saddlebags.
“What are you two doing away from your posts?” he asked. “I told you two to cover the far end of the right flank. Why have you returned?”
The knight with the bushy beard dismounted. “Something very serious, de Wolfe,” he said. “We must speak with you.”
Titus looked up from his saddlebags. “Now?” he asked, perturbed. “The earl wants you in your position, de la Londe. Get to it. We can speak afterwards if there is still a need.”
Simon de la Londe shook his head, ice crystals from his beard raining onto his chest. “I am afraid it is too important to wait,” he said. “I will only take a moment. I come with a message for you.”
Titus scowled. “A message?” he repeated. “From whom?”
“Norfolk.”
Titus’ scowl faded and genuine bewilderment took hold. “De Mowbray?” he asked. “How is that possible? He is not even here yet.”
De la Londe nodded patiently. “He is a few hours out,” he said. “We received his messenger with a message for you.”
Titus’ confusion only deepened. “What in the world would the Duke of Norfolk have to say to me?” he asked. “And how does he even know me? I am one knight among thousands here today.”
De la Londe looked over the battlefield, at the lines being drawn and the thousands of men preparing to risk their lives for two men who would be king. He glanced at his companion, Declan de Troiu, and noted de Troiu’s serious expression. The man nodded, firmly, as if to give de la Londe the push he needed to speak. De la Londe returned his attention to Titus.
