Page 65 of The Forsaken
Bamburgh Castle, Northumberland
The sky was an impenetrable gray, the heavens so low it seemed as if they would just keep sinking until they skimmed the snow-covered ground. Guy moved closer to the fire, desperate for its meager warmth. Numerous fires dotted the open ground surrounding Bamburgh Castle. The men stomped their feet and moved around to keep warm. It’d finally stopped snowing, but the air hadn’t warmed up enough to allow the accumulation to melt. A thick blanket of white covered the earth, making the disgruntled soldiers even more miserable, especially those who didn’t have tents of their own and had to sleep rough night after night.
The castle sat on a hill just above them: massive, forbidding, and impregnable. A few knights jokingly implied that they’d rather be besieged than cool their heels out in the open, exposed to rain, snow, and gusts of cold wind that left their faces numb. The rations were inadequate as well. King Edward saw to the welfare of his men, but in the dead of winter, sufficient supplies were hard to come by. They weren’t starving by any means, but men needed meat to maintain their strength, not porridge or slices of bread spread with drippings, which only made them hungrier for something more substantial.
No one had imagined they’d be back at Bamburgh so soon. The Lancastrians had surrendered the castle to Warwick’s forces back in July, but in the months since, they’d regrouped and mounted an armed rebellion. Bamburgh Castle was one of three Northumbrian castles serving as strongholds for Lancastrian supporters since the Battle of Towton, and Warwick meant to see the rebels crushed. If he didn’t, the rebellion might spread south and threaten Edward’s reign, which thus far had been successful. Warwick had managed to negotiate a short-lived truce with theScots, with whom England was at war, and used the two-month respite from fighting to put down the resistance building at Bamburgh, Alnwick, and Dunstanburgh castles.
Bamburgh Castle had been under siege since the beginning of December. Cut off from the world, the Lancastrians were running low on supplies and surrender loomed with utter inevitability, but they still held out, infuriating the Earl of Warwick and making him more determined to bring the rebels to their knees. Guy hoped the siege would end by the end of the year. He dreamed of going home for Christmas and spending the holiday in warmth and comfort. He’d been as ready to fight as he’d ever be, but spending weeks out in the open with nothing to do but watch the castle was taking its toll. Guy’s arm ached almost constantly, and his headaches had returned, brought on by gusting wind and changes in the weather. He didn’t complain about his suffering to anyone, but there was no glory in starving the enemy out, only boredom.
He’d accompanied Hugh when he’d presented himself to Warwick and his brother, John Neville, Marquess of Montagu, upon arrival at Bamburgh Castle a fortnight ago. The Neville brothers were well aware of the connection between their families, and Hugh would be damned if he allowed this opportunity to pass without trying to at least find some favor. Warwick and Montagu had been gracious enough, now that they were all on the same side, but had treated Hugh and Guy with the respect due to knights, not the warmth accorded to family. Hugh had fumed at the rejection, but Guy simply put the Nevilles from his mind. He expected nothing. The two Neville men were too experienced in the ways of the court and too shrewd in the art of warfare not to see through Hugh’s feeble efforts. They would not take any interest in their distant kin by marriage unless they had something to gain by the association, and Hugh and Guy de Rosel had nothing to offer men who had everything.
“There you are,” Hugh said as he settled next to Guy. His cheeks were ruddy with cold, and he seemed to be in a worse mood than when he’d left Guy about an hour since. “Here, havesomething to eat.” He had brought a loaf of bread, some roast pork, and a skin of ale. “The meat is not as fresh as it should be but tastes better than horsemeat.” Hugh chuckled without mirth. “I hear they’ve started in on their horses,” he said, his chin jutting toward the castle. “They’re starving.”
“They must be freezing too,” Guy said as he accepted the meat and bread. “They must have burned though the firewood by now, and most of their furniture.”
“They’re still warmer than we are,” Hugh scoffed. “I’ve never been this cold for this long. Lord, I long for my bed, and the warm, pillowy breasts of my wife.” He sighed as he tore off a chunk of pork with his teeth.
The pork tasted rancid, and Guy stopped eating his share after the first bite. He’d rather be hungry than sick. Several men in the camp had the runs and groaned loudly as they hurried toward the areas designated for the purpose.
Hugh grimaced and threw the pork on the fire. “I’m not eating this maggot-ridden carcass. The bread will have to suffice.” He took a long pull of ale and passed the skin to Guy, who was chewing on his own stale heel of bread with little enthusiasm. “And what is the point of all this?” Hugh asked, making an expansive gesture that encompassed the castle and the surrounding area swarming with Yorkist soldiers. He’d clearly been drinking with some of the other knights and was feeling loose-tongued and riled up. “They’ll surrender in the end anyhow; they might as well spare us all the suffering. The Duke of Somerset and Sir Percy know full well that reinforcements are not coming, not in time to help them anyway. Margaret of Anjou is in Scotland, trying to raise an army. Much good it will do her.”
“Don’t underestimate the woman,” Guy replied. “She managed to recapture Bamburgh two months ago, with the assistance of the French. Not an easy feat.”
“And promptly lost it again. She’s an admirable woman, I’ll grant you that, but she doesn’t have enough support to pose anyreal threat to Edward, and Warwick is too experienced a tactician not to anticipate her every move.”
“Margaret will never give up, not as long as she has her boy to think of,” Guy replied. “She’ll see him on the throne, or she’ll die trying.”
“Likely the latter,” Hugh scoffed. “She’s just ceded Berwick Castle back to the Scots on behalf of her husband and put Robert Lauder of Edrington in charge. I hope Kate understands the implications of this and keeps well away from the castle. You know how she likes to walk.”
“Surely she’ll come to no harm,” Guy replied.
“I’d like to think not, especially if she’s with child.”
“Is she?” Guy asked. “Have you had news from home?”
Hugh shook his head. “No, I haven’t had any news, not since the last letter, but I would be very pleased to find my wife with child on my return,” Hugh replied hopefully. “I really thought she’d have given me a son by now. Or a daughter, at the very least.”
“So, why are you so worried about your yet-to-be-born children?” Guy asked. Hugh was holding something back; that much was obvious.
“I’ve heard some talk.”
“What sort of talk?”
“Warwick visited Kate’s father after the Battle of Towton to express his condolences on the death of Dancy’s sons. The two have maintained a steady correspondence since then, it would seem,” Hugh explained. He stared into the flames, his elbows resting on his thighs and his body unusually tense.
“Why does that matter?”
“It doesn’t, really. It only matters because Warwick’s had news of Dancy, which he was only too happy to share with me when he saw me earlier while inspecting the camp. He actually stopped to talk to me for a minute, an honor I could have done without in this particular circumstance. No doubt he just wanted to watch me squirm.”
“What news?”
“Dancy’s remarried, and his new bride, who is twenty-five years his junior, has given him a healthy son. I know you’re not very financially minded, brother, but even you can grasp the ramifications of this union.”
“Kate will never inherit as long as the boy lives,” Guy said, his tone wooden.
“Even if the whelp doesn’t live, Dancy’s wife is young enough to give him a dozen more sons. I won’t see a farthing off my father-in-law. Not as things stand now. Had Lady Dancy lingered…”
“God rest her soul.” Guy crossed himself in memory of Kate’s mother. He knew Hugh didn’t mean to be cruel; he was just being practical, as Hugh was wont to be.
