In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the Young

by Evelyn Everett-Green

Foremost amongst these was the young Duke of Somerset, whose family had ever been stanch to the Red Rose, as well it might. Some of the unpopularity Margaret of Anjou had early won for herself at the English court was due to her confidence in and affection for Somerset, and his son might well be ardent in her cause.

Margaret herself was still sunk in unwonted depression, but the representations of the fiery young duke did much to give her heart. With him came Jasper Tudor, the king's half brother, and they drew glowing pictures of the loyalty of the western counties; and of Wales, where a large band of troops was mustering for her support; and represented that if she could but effect a junction with them, the whole country would soon be hers, and she would be able to dictate terms to the enemy at the gates of London.

Margaret's elastic temper rose with the encouragement thus received, and Edward's heart beat high with hope. The party began their westward march, and through the bright days of April and May they rode through the smiling land, receiving welcome and adulation from all, and reinforcements to their little band from every town through which they passed. Small wonder was it that they learned to feel confident of ultimate success. The young prince, with Paul at his side, would ride through the ranks of his followers day by day, speaking bright, brave words to all he passed, and winning the hearts of his troops as perhaps only the young and frank-hearted and unspoiled can do. To him it seemed almost more like a triumphal progress than a recruiting march.

But Margaret's brow was often dark with anxiety. She knew the temper of the bold Edward of York, as she called him, whom the world still spoke of as king; and she knew that he would be upon their track. Any day they might see his banners threatening their rear, and still the Welsh army was at some distance; and until a junction could be effected, even their lives could scarce be called safe.

Then at Gloucester a serious check met them. The place was held for the king's brother, and the gates were resolutely closed against her. It was here that she had reckoned upon crossing the deep and treacherous waters of the Severn, and to be thus foiled might mean the ruin of the enterprise. The sheltering mountains of Wales were already in sight; but how was she to reach them if the passage of the river were denied her?

Paul had gone forth alone that day, and had not been present when the queen had ridden herself to the fortified gates to demand an entrance, which had been firmly and respectfully declined her. But he had learned tidings which disquieted him not a little, and it was at full gallop that he dashed back into the ranks, and sought the prince himself, who was looking with darkening brow upon the frowning battlements of the unfriendly city.

"My liege, it brooks not this delay," he cried, reining up beside Edward, and speaking in rapid whispers. "The army of York is scarce a score of miles away, and in hot pursuit after us. They have had certain news of our movements, and unless we can push on across the river and meet our friends there, we shall be taken in the rear, and at sore disadvantage. It behoves us to strain every nerve to reach our friends before our foes are upon us."

"I doubt not that," answered Edward calmly, yet with a look which Paul did not understand; "but the wide river runs before us, and the bridge is barred to us. Unless we reduce first this noble city, we must turn and face the foe and fight him at sore odds."

A look of dismay crossed Paul's face as he heard this piece of news, and he silently followed the prince at his bidding to the spot where the leading nobles and generals were gathered together in warm debate. The news that Edward was just upon them ran like wildfire through the ranks, and all the most experienced leaders, including the royal Margaret herself, were of opinion that it would be better not to run the risk of a battle, but retire rapidly and stealthily from their present position, and not encounter the onset of Edward's veteran troops, flushed with victory and thirsting for blood, until their hardy mountain allies had contrived to join them.

But there is something revolting to young and ardent spirits in the thought of flight, and the Duke of Somerset was eager for the fray. He argued that an easy victory must be theirs if they did but act boldly and hastened to the attack. To fly were fatal; their troops would become disheartened and melt away. Their foes would openly triumph, and all men would be drawn to them. Edward's soldiers, weary with long marching, would be taken by surprise. It were a thousand times better to risk the fight than to play the coward at so critical a juncture.