The Marriage Prize (52 page)

informed him the moment Edward had taken his troops north.

The prince strode to the map table and fixed Gilbert with a

piercing stare.

"Three days ago, when I marched my men to Kenilworth,

Mortimer's Welsh spies informed me that Simon de Montfort's

army was winding its weary way toward Hereford. I withdrew

my entire army, believing your force of four thousand was an

adequate deterrent to the barons. Today I have irrefutable

information that not only has de Mont-fort crossed the River

Severn, but the Avon as wel . Explain yourself, Gilbert!"

As Rodger de Leyburn listened to the cutting words, he

recognized the deadly dangerous tone of Edward's voice.

Young Gilbert might have

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a fiery temper, but Rod knew the sparks de Clare could

generate would soon be smothered by the conflagration of the

infamous Plantagenet fury, should the prince unleash it.

Gilbert, his face flushed as bright as his hair, complained,

"Since I do not speak Welsh, Mortimer's informants would not

deal with me! They showed nothing but contempt for my

youth."

"They are paid to spy, not kiss the arse of our arrogant English

earls. But do not despair, Gilbert, I wil give you every chance

to make amends for your shortcomings, and for your youth!"

John de Warenne and Rodger de Leyburn were studying the

map on the table before them. "By crossing at Pershore,

Simon de Montfort has revealed where the barons wil make

their stand," de Warenne said decisively.

"It is Evesham, my lord, nothing could be more certain," de

Ley-burn confirmed. As Edward bent his head over the map,

Rod drew his finger in a straight line across the Severn and

Avon rivers to Evesham.

Edward raised his eyes to Mortimer. "What numbers?"

"Four thousand, tired, hungry, and badly equipped. No more

than two hundred mounted barons and knights; the rest are

foot soldiers, except a few hundred Welsh archers Llewelyn

grudgingly supplied."

"Counting the men of Gloucester, we have more than twice

their number; five hundred mounted knights, and enough

horses to mount another three or four hundred armed men,"

Rodger confirmed.

"With such an overwhelming advantage, our men wil be able

to snatch a few hours' sleep," Bassingbourne concluded with

relief.

Edward's fist smote the map table. "They can sleep when

they're dead! Battles are won with fury and speed! If we delay

until morning, it could give young Simon de Montfort time to

gather the forces we scattered, and ride to his sire's aid."

Rodger de Leyburn looked down at his hands and wondered

if his act of mercy in sparing young Simon would come back

to haunt him.

"Sound the trumpets," Edward ordered. "Close your ears to their bitching and complaining. If you've trained them wel , your

men wil fal into line. Before dusk fal s, I want them on the road

leading to the Vale of Evesham. I wil now listen to your

suggestions for strategy."

Most of his lieutenants voiced their ideas for achieving the

maximum

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military impact, while Gilbert de Clare maintained a wise

silence. When they were done, Edward grinned for the first

time since entering the war room. "I said I'd listen; I didn't say I would use your suggestions." His jest broke the tension that

had been steadily building to an unbearable pitch. "I want two

flying wings to prevent our enemy's escape. Mortimer, you wil

take two thousand Marcher barons to the east and plant

yourself astride the road to London. Gilbert the Red, you wil

take your wing of two thousand Gloucester men-at-arms to the

west and make sure the enemy does not retreat back across

the River Avon. I wil lead the rest of my lieutenants, with their

force of five thousand, and drive head-on into the baronial

army."

"Simon de Montfort must know our numbers. He wil be feeling

downcast and desperate at the moment," Lincoln de Warenne

surmised.

"Never think it for a moment," Edward said. "He is a veteran warlord who has emerged victorious from every battle he ever

fought. He knew we withdrew, and no doubt guessed it was to

fight his son's army. He is moving with such expediency

because he hopes to reach the other baronial force and unite

them. He has no idea we vanquished them and returned so

quickly; Simon de Montfort would never march into the jaws of

a victorious enemy."

"I whol y agree with Edward," Rodger de Leyburn said.

"Simon de Montfort is an inspired and daring general with a

valiant heart; he is also shrewd, devious, and ruthless. He

believes in his cause, and above al he believes in himself! He

is never downcast or despairing before a battle; make no

mistake, this wil be the fight of our lives."

It took a monumental effort by Lord Edward and al of his

lieutenants to organize the massive undertaking, but by the

lieutenants to organize the massive undertaking, but by the

time dusk fel , the entire royal army was on its way to

Evesham. In the middle of the night, they arrived at the juncture

where the two winged divisions must separate from the main

body of the army. Edward cal ed a last, brief council of war,

gathering his lieutenants about him to give them their final

orders, then he turned to Rodger. "Did you bring the thirteen

baronial banners we captured at Kenilworth?"

Rodger de Leyburn had known al night that the question

would come; Edward was far too shrewd to forget about the

banners.- He

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would al ow nothing to stand in his way. He was prepared to

do anything or sacrifice anyone to achieve his goal. Rod set

aside any repulsion he felt. "Aye, my lord, I brought the

banners."

"Give them to the flag bearers to hoist before us in the

vanguard. This al ows us to add the element of surprise; our

enemy wil think we are the baronial army come to aid them."

******************

sunrise. Thunder rumbled overhead, awakening the baronial

men-at-arms, who had barely had time to drop to the ground

for a much-needed sleep. When Edward's army came over

Green Hil on the northern side of the town, Simon de

Montfort's scouts mistook it for the baronial army and gave the

news to their leader that his son had at long last arrived. Hope

and joy, however, turned to alarm and desperation as the

deception was discovered.

As the barons scrambled to throw on their chain mail and

accoutre themselves with weapons, a scout brought de

Montfort the news that Mortimer's forces blocked any retreat

to the east. Simon summoned his lieutenants, along with two

of his sons, Henry and Guy. "It is possible that Edward has

positioned himself between our two armies to keep us

separated," he told the men. "Our best chance is to form a

wedge and drive up the hil into their center, break through the

enemy's line, and hope we find our al ies awaiting us on the

other side."

"Why don't we retreat back across the River Avon?" Henry

cried with alarm, seeing the royalist army spread across an

area fifteen hundred yards wide, with double their baronial

fighting force.

"Just as he has deployed forces to the east, Edward wil of a

certainty be blocking the west. His strategy wil be flawless; he

learned it from me." Simon de Montfort mounted the destrier

his squire brought forward, unsheathed his broadsword, and

led his men into battle.

The very first attack drove into Edward's forces hard, in the

center of the line of troops. The impact of the flying wedge

shocked but did not break through the line. Instead, the line of

Edward's troops bent and closed in on each side of the

barons, surrounding them, trapping them.

Above the soldiers, lightning flashed and thunder roared,

melding 307

with the horrific sounds of battle, drowning out the cries of

mortal y wounded men and the screams of terrified,

maddened horses. The most furious fighting was centered

among the mounted knights of both armies. There was no

time for any man to do aught but protect his body with his

shield and, at the same time, slaughter his enemy with his

weapon. The blow of battle-ax, the jab of pike, the swing of

mace, the stab of spear, and the thrust of sword took their

terrible tol on flesh, and muscle, and sinew.

Blood was everywhere, the crimson sight of it, the sticky feel

of it, the metal ic smel of it, and the salty taste of it. Blood

splattered, sprayed, spil ed, bubbled, oozed, gushed, and

flowed. The ground, littered with fal en weapons, horses, and

men, became drenched and soaked with blood, vomit, piss,

and entrails, al churned into foul, slimy, dark-red mud by the

frenzied, trampling hooves of the warhorses.

Edward swung his broadsword with the unflagging strength of

a colossus. His reach was longer, his energy greater, his wil

to win stronger than any other warrior at the Battle of

Evesham. Rodger de Leyburn, fighting at Edward's side, saw

the prince's destrier sink to its knees and rol on its side.

Edward was out of the saddle in a flash, and so was Rodger.

He handed Edward Stygian's reins, but did not wait for him to

mount. Instead, he turned and took Griffin's horse. That horse

lasted an hour, then went down beneath him, mortal y

wounded. Again he turned, but this time his squire was

nowhere in sight and Rodger was forced to fight on foot. The

arm that held his shield became so numbed, he could no

longer feel the blows it took. The ache in his sword arm

spread up through his shoulder and down his back. He began

to stagger on legs that now trembled with muscle fatigue.

A huge destrier caught Rodger's attention. He wiped the

sweat from his eyes and saw Simon de Montfort mounted on

its back. The great warlord at the height of his powers was

such an impressive sight that for one moment Rodger

doubted that Edward would be able to prevail against such a

formidable foe. Rod banished the thought immediately and

gave al his attention to dispatching any of the enemy foolish

enough to come directly into his path.

The battle went on for hours, but slowly, gradual y, inevitably,

the larger royal army gained on the smal er baronial force.

Then, when

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Mortimer and Gloucester realized there was no chance for the

enemy to flee, they brought in their forces to fight. Edward's

mounted knights and foot soldiers decimated Simon's army,

then they ravaged, and final y vanquished their enemy. As the

dark clouds rol ed away and the sun came out, Edward's men

raised their heads and saw there were no combatants left to

fight. The entire baronial forces were either dead, wounded,

or begging for mercy and surrendering their weapons.

or begging for mercy and surrendering their weapons.

Edward, stil astride Stygian, picked his way through the

carnage and slowly realized the only men left standing were

his own. He saw Rodger de Leyburn, who had been fighting

on foot, and urged the horse toward him. Edward had a

stunned look on his face as he slowly dismounted and looked

dazedly at his friend.

"Do you know what this means?" Rodger cried.

"I won," Edward croaked.

Rodger raised his sword on high and roared, "Thine is the

kingdom, the power, and the glory!"

"Splendor of God, I won!" Edward cried, throwing his arms

about Rodger and lifting him into the air. Al about them the

cheering and the tumult were deafening as victorious men-at-

arms suddenly realized the battle was over and they had won

the day!

The battle fever soon subsided in the two men and was

replaced by compassion for their foes whom they had so

thoroughly defeated. They cal ed for fresh horses and, with

their squires, traversed the battlefield, searching for their own

wounded men while at the same time doing a cursory tal y of

the losses from both sides. When they came across young

Guy de Montfort, who was badly wounded, Edward ordered

that he be carried from the field and his injuries tended without

delay. When they discovered the body of Henry de Montfort,

tears came to Edward's eyes for his boyhood companion.

John de Warenne's joy in victory soon turned to sorrow when

he found that his brother Lincoln had been slain. They met him

as he carried his brother's body from the field. "Blood of God,

Lincoln has two young children—if one of us had to die, why

wasn't it me?"

Rodger de Leyburn said the only thing he could. "You must be

their father now, John."

There was a crowd of Mortimer's men gathered about the

spot

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where the body of Simon de Montfort had fal en. Their

bloodlust was stil high for the earl whom they had long hated,

and they were in the process of dismembering his corpse

when Edward and Rodger came upon the vengeful, senseless

savagery. Both men recoiled with horror when they saw