The Boar (Violent Delights Book 16)

Chapter 3 - 1471 "The Battle of Tewksbury"

Edward, Prince of Wales

Edward of York must learn of our landing within days of us actually setting foot on English soil. I'm home once more. But home is an odd word when I can only send feints to pretend I'm going to take London.
I don't have the army to take London.
What has ensued over the last few weeks is a series of forced marches. A clever set of military maneuvers, albeit with my young wife in tow, on borrowed time. Anne is a true solider though, and doesn't complain once. We're making for Wales, well aware the Yorkist army, though laden down with supplies, is terrifyingly close. An army which not only outnumbers ours, but also is far better served with guns. We stop in Bristol to take guns, but little else, there's no time. We need to make it to friendly Wales. I'm admittedly eager for battle, but I'd like to choose the location and have a fresh army, not one that I've had to force to march day and night to escape sudden capture.
We needed to reach Severn in order to ford and reach the safety of Wales.
We do not make it.
An unseasonably hot day exhausts my army, and on our final day of march, we only make it a short ten miles to Tewksbury field. There, my scouts tell me that the Yorks are camped not three miles away. We either retreat and allow them to trample us come morning. Or we give battle. They don't outnumber us drastically, but their guns do which I'm well aware is what counts. My grandfather was fond of winning battles with inferior numbers but superior guns, I'd far prefer that method to my own situation. However. I'll make do with what I have, which is attempting to have a better command of the terrain.
Edmund Beaufort joined us at landing with the Earl of Devon, a John Courtenay. I don't recall having met either of them, Edmund perhaps briefly I knew his older brother of course. They'll take two divisions. I the middle with Exeter as my council as I've not led a pitched battle before. My mother will command the entire battle from behind, as befitting of a queen or king, and Anne to remain with her and learn.
Exeter returns from scouting the field, "We may make it," he says, uncharticistically laconic.
"That means you think we will not," I say, looking up from my maps. So close to Wales. So close.
He shrugs, shirtsleeve in his mouth.
"Look don't soften it for me Ex," I sigh.
"They've got more guns, and arrows, and their army has been on the march for two weeks not four. Edward of York isn't a bad general I've lost to him before I should know. His little brother is the one who beat Warwick and Stafford, together they took London from Jasper. Our best bet was Severn but you know all that already so why am I saying it?" He asks.
"Could use to hear it I suppose," I sigh, "I'm sorry I'm not taking it out on you. I'd like better odds. But. We both know I'm going to go down fighting don't we?"
He shrugs a little, "So will I, so will your mum."
"If something should happen and—my father—I don't want him to be ashamed of me," I sigh, "When we parted, he bid me go to live a simple life. To forget my royal name. To live. To do anything but this. And my memory of him fades. And the memory of his words remain terribly clear. He didn't want this for me. He never wanted this for me he would weep to see me thus," I gesture to the armor I still half wear. I'm probably going to sleep in it to be honest. If the past few weeks have taught me anything it's that my helmet is a comfortable and convenient place to nap. "I live in my armor. I'm plotting battle day and night. Tomorrow I will go out there and order the death of men—something we both know my father never, ever wanted for me. You knew him, sadly, longer than I. I know he didn't want this but. Would he be ashamed of me?"
"I don't know," he says, quietly, chewing on his sleeve a bit, "I can't speak for another man, he wouldn't know what you'd been through, and I wouldn't know what he'd think of all of it."
I lower my head, slowly. I knew he'd give me an honest answer but of course I wanted affirmation.
"But I'm proud of you," he says, staring at me. I finally look up.  "I'm proud of the man you're becoming. And anyone would be mad, not to be proud to call you his son. I like who you are. And I'm honored to be in the rest of your life, however long that is for either of us."
I hear myself sob, and I walk up and hug the slight man, burying my face in his shoulder.
He squeezes me tightly, kissing my cheek, "You remember that now, boy."
"Thank you," I whisper, wiping my face with my hand.