The Knight of Swords and Spooks Read online

  Illustrated by Helen Flook

  A & C Black • London

  First published 2009 by

  A & C Black Publishers Ltd

  36 Soho Square, London W1D 3QY

  www.acblack.com

  Text copyright © 2009 Terry Deary

  Illustrations copyright © 2009 Helen Flook

  The rights of Terry Deary and Helen Flook to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  eISBN 978-1-40819-886-5

  A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems – without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.

  This book is produced using paper that is made from wood grown in managed, sustainable forests. It is natural, renewable and recyclable. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain

  by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading RG1 8EX

  Contents

  Chapter One: Boy and Boar

  Chapter Two: Tudor and Traitor

  Chapter Three: Cheers and Chains

  Chapter Four: Tower and Torment

  Chapter Five: Night and Noon

  Chapter Six: Helmet and Hood

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Boy and Boar

  England, 1485

  Sir Thomas Stanley sat at the window and enjoyed the late-summer sun. It shone through the diamond panes of glass and on to his velvet jacket the colour of rust. He chewed on a peach and looked out over the fine garden of his castle.

  There was a soft knock at the door and Sir Thomas called, “Enter!”

  A boy pushed open the door – a fair-haired, pale boy in a green tunic. He was carrying a wooden sword.

  “Ah, George, my son! Come in, come in!” Sir Thomas said, waving a hand.

  The boy stood in front of his father’s chair. “You sent for me, Father?”

  “I did, George, I did!” The man smiled. It was a wide smile and as honest as a snake that is just about to swallow a rabbit.

  “I was practising my riding with a lance. Robin was teaching me.”

  “Good boy, good boy. We need all the knights we can get to fight our wars. There will always be wars and there will always be knights! Ha! Now, my dear, dear son…”

  George blinked. His father had never called him ‘dear’ before. In fact, he thought his father hardly knew he was alive and living in the same castle. At dinner, his father sat with his favourite knights and ladies at the top table. George sat with the children and the squires.

  “As you know,” Sir Thomas was saying, “when a boy reaches your age, he is sent away to live with another family. It’s a chance for a lad to see how other great families do things … get to see other parts of England … meet new people.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Now, I have the most thrilling news. It is so exciting I can hardly believe it myself, my dear, dear son.”

  “You are sending me away to serve as a squire to a knight.”

  “Not just any knight.”

  “A great knight?”

  “Not just any great knight!” Sir Thomas Stanley chuckled. “You, my dear son, are going to serve in the palace of the king himself!”

  “The king?” George said. “Why?”

  “Why? Why what?”

  “Why me? The king has thousands of fine families to choose from. Why me?”

  Sir Thomas shifted in his seat as if it were hot. “Don’t ask questions like that, boy. Now … turn around and kneel before King Richard III!”

  George turned slowly. Sitting in a darkened corner of the room, was a man with skin as pale as plaster. Dark eyes burned in a sad face with thin lips. The man was dressed in black. It was plain, black wool, not the fine silk George would expect from a king. Only a badge in the shape of a white boar on his riding cloak and a large golden ring on his finger gave some colour.

  The king sat hunched in the chair and stared at George in a way that made the boy shiver.

  A tall man was standing behind the chair. He smiled a sneering smile. George fell to one knee and bowed before the king.

  King Richard spoke in a harsh voice. “Sir Richard Ratcliffe here will be your keeper,” he said.

  The king stood up. He was not a tall man and he walked with a limp. He passed the kneeling boy and went to stand beside Sir Thomas.

  “He will do,” he said.

  Sir Thomas wrung his hands. “Oh, thank you, sire.”

  “Do not let me down, Thomas Stanley, or you know what will happen,” he said quietly, and his voice was hard as frost.

  Sir Thomas smiled a frightened smile and bowed low. Then the king was gone.

  Ratcliffe slapped the boy on his back. “Get your servant – what’s his name? Robin? Get him to pack your saddlebags.We ride for Nottingham Castle as soon as you are ready.”

  George hurried to the door.

  “Goodbye, George,” Sir Thomas said. There was something in the way he said it that made George think he meant ‘Goodbye … for ever’.

  Chapter Two

  Tudor and Traitor

  Robin groaned as he packed George Stanley’s saddlebags. Then he spoke a curious rhyme:

  “The Rat, the Cat, and Lovell the Dog, Rule all England under the Hog.”

  “What does that mean?” George asked.

  Robin shook his head. He was an old man, wise in the ways of teaching a knight, but feeble in body now. “I shouldn’t have said that! But … but the Rat is the man you’ve just met … Sir Richard Ratcliffe – one of King Richard’s most trusted knights. The Cat is another … Sir William Catesby. And Lovell is Lord Francis Lovell … the king’s favourite.”

  “They rule England?”

  “With the help of the Hog – that’s King Richard himself,” Robin whispered.

  “You can’t call the king a hog!” George whispered back.

  “It’s his badge – a wild boar – a hog,” Robin explained.

  “Robin?”

  “Yes, Master George.”

  “Why are we whispering?”

  “Ah … the man who made up that rhyme about the Rat, the Cat, and Lovell the Dog, was called Collingham. When the king heard about it, he had Collingham executed. So never call Ratcliffe the Rat!”

  The old servant gripped the boy by the shoulders. “You are heading into terrible danger, Master George.”

  George shook his head.

  “I’m going to train to be a knight. I may be knocked off my horse once or twice, but it’s not real danger!” he smiled.

  Robin did not return the smile. “Is that what your father told you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” George said. “Why? Would father lie to me? What is the truth?”

  The door to George’s room was open and Ratcliffe stood there with his sour mouth turned down at the corners. “Truth about what?”

  George had learned Robin’s lessons well – a knight does not show fear. “What is the truth about my journey to Nottingham?”

  Ratcliffe glared at the boy.

  “England is in terrible danger,” he said, and he sat on a stool by the door. He took out his dagger and used the point to clean his nails as he talked.

  “Danger?” George asked.

  “There is an enemy of the king called Henry Tudor – he has landed in Wales and he is gathering an army. He wants to take the throne from King Ric
hard.”

  The boy gasped. “And the king wants me to fight?”

  Ratcliffe sneered. “No, the king wants your father to fight. Your father and your uncle Will can command five or six thousand men. The king needs those men in his army. There is a great battle coming. One of the greatest England has ever seen. King Richard has to win it.”

  “He’ll win with my father’s help,” George said. He had seen the soldiers in the fields outside the castle, and watched them train, with the archers sending so many arrows into the sky that the sun turned dark.

  Knights practised their fighting on horseback and on foot – swinging swords and axes and heavy clubs they called maces. They rode back into the castle each night to rest and seemed happy. The Stanley army was ready to fight.

  Sir Richard Ratcliffe stood up and placed the knife point under the boy’s chin. “Yes, young George.With your father’s help we will win … but what if your father does not help?”

  “Not help?”

  “What if your father turned traitor and fought for Henry Tudor? Then we would lose. You see the problem?”

  “Why would my father fight for Henry Tudor?”

  Ratcliffe nodded. “I suppose they don’t tell you things like that. Henry Tudor is your father’s stepson … your stepbrother. Sir Thomas may switch sides and fight for Henry. So, we need a hostage.” The knife tip pricked the soft skin of George’s throat. “And if your father betrays King Richard … then you know what will happen?”

  Suddenly George did know. “You will kill me?”

  This time, Ratcliffe gave a real, wide smile. “Oh, yes, little George. We will kill you!”

  Chapter Three

  Cheers and Chains

  The ride to Nottingham was grim. George was always watched by three men-at-arms. His servant Robin was forced to ride at the back with the baggage wagon and Sir Richard Ratcliffe hardly spoke.

  Nottingham Castle loomed above them and even on that summer day it seemed cold and unfriendly.

  The fields outside the town were littered with tents of all sorts. Some fine ones with coloured stripes for the lords and some ragged shelters for the poorest archers and foot soldiers.

  Cooking fires covered the fields with a haze of smoke, but through the smoke George could still smell the foul scent of the toilet pits and the filthy men.

  From time to time, he saw knights practising with lances, while soldiers watched and cheered from the banks.

  The gates in the city walls were crammed with people hurrying in and out, carts carrying food and weapons, beggars trying to cadge coppers and teams of huge horses pulling mighty bronze cannon along the roads.

  Ratcliffe’s small troop waited for the traffic at the gate to clear, and that allowed Robin to catch up with George on his pony.

  “Look at the crowds!” Robin said cheerfully. “If you slip away, they’ll never find you in this mob!”

  “Slip away?”

  “Escape! Save your life, Master George. The first chance we get, we’ll flee. My family in Lancashire will look after you till this is over … even if Henry Tudor wins, your father will be safe.”

  “So I will be safe?”

  “No, no!” Robin moaned. “If your father helps Henry Tudor to win, then you will be too dead to enjoy the victory – Ratcliffe will see to that!”

  The men-at-arms pushed George ahead and through a gap in the crowd. Inside the city walls, the market stalls were in danger of being crushed by the masses and even the houses were shaking. Only the mighty castle looked safe and solid. But, once he was inside, George knew he would never escape.

  As they came near the gatehouse, he looked around. His guards were talking to the soldiers at the gate. Robin sat at the back of the line and nodded his head. The old man climbed down from his pony, stiff and aching from the ride.

  George took one last look and tumbled down from his saddle; as soon as his boots touched the cobbles, he was running back down the road.

  Robin swept a cloak over the boy’s head and dragged him down an alley and into a doorway.

  They were lost before Ratcliffe knew they were gone. The doorway led into a tavern. The tavern was jammed with men looking for ale to wash away the dust of the scorching day. There was no way to fight their way through the crowd.

  Robin saw a gap between two women and slipped into it, but the gap closed before George could follow. He was stuck at the doorway.

  There were angry voices in the alley and a young woman cried, “They went that way, my lord … into the tavern…” then, “Ohhh! Thank you, sire,” as Sir Richard Ratcliffe handed her a piece of silver from his purse.

  Soon Ratcliffe’s sunburned face loomed over George and his strong hand grasped the boy’s hood and dragged him from the doorway.

  “I should kill you for this, you little puppy. And when the battle is over I will kill you. No matter what happens, I will kill you!” he snarled. “For now, I need you alive … but your old servant will die in the castle dungeons as soon as we find him.”

  Robin, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  “A knight – a true knight – would not try to escape from a promise his father made. From now on,” Ratcliffe said, “you will not be treated like a young knight. You will be treated like the miserable prisoner you are. From now on, you will be held in chains – chains as hard as King Richard’s heart.”

  Chapter Four

  Tower and Torment

  The army marched from Nottingham two days later. It stretched for miles along the English roads.

  At its head was the round-shouldered shape of King Richard III. And, just behind him, his prisoner, chained to a pony and guarded by the menacing Ratcliffe.

  The king led his army westwards to where he knew the enemy were coming. “You will see how a knight fights,” Richard promised the boy. “What is your name, young Stanley?”

  “George, Your Majesty.”

  “Ha! George, eh? I had a brother called George, you know?”

  “No, sire.”

  “Yes, brother George,” he said bitterly.

  “What happened to him?” the boy asked.

  “He betrayed us. Took sides with our enemies … I had to have him executed in the Tower of London. My own brother. You cannot trust anyone. And I do not trust your father.”

  “He’s still my father,” George said. “I cannot call him a traitor.”

  King Richard nodded. “You are a good knight – and a loyal son. I had a son, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “He died. A baby. Children die. You shall die if you father betrays me. Are you afraid?”

  “No, sire.”

  Richard laughed and rode on.

  That night, they reached a field that the soldiers called Bosworth. They set up their camp in the warm, evening air.

  To the south and the west, the hills were gentle and green. In the distance, the sky was clouded orange.

  Ratcliffe looked out of the tent where George was chained to the main pole. “Only an army makes a dust cloud like that. Henry Tudor is on his way. Tomorrow there’ll be a battle.”

  “What will happen? George asked.

  “We will win,” the tall knight answered. “You see, we are on a hilltop. Henry Tudor’s men will have to march up the hill to attack. We will mow them down with our arrows, and they will be climbing over the corpses of their friends. If any of them do reach us, they will be too exhausted to fight our knights. We sit here. We wait. We win.” The man raised an arm and pointed to the north. “See that hill a mile away?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “That’s a place called Coton. Your father and your uncle are marching their army there now. When Henry Tudor attacks us, your Stanley armies will smash them from the side. We cannot lose.”

  George nodded. He lay back on a blanket. After a long day’s ride he soon fell asleep. Deeply asleep. Yet he awoke in terror.

  Hours had passed. It was darkest night. He wondered what had woken him. Then he heard it
again. The screams of a man – a man in torment. He knew it came from the next tent.

  Sir Richard Ratcliffe stumbled in the dark of their tent and threw on a cloak. He came back moments later with his arm around a shadowy figure. “It was a dream, just a dream,” he murmured to the man.

  The shadow-man gave a long groan. “It’s a sign, Ratcliffe, a sign. A bad sign. Tomorrow … tomorrow in the battle … tomorrow, I will die!”

  And the boy knew the tormented voice was the voice of King Richard.

  Chapter Five

  Night and Noon

  King Richard sat on the floor of the tent and took deep breaths as if he were in pain. “Oh, Ratcliffe, the things I saw!”

  “It was a dream, Your Majesty.”

  “Maybe, Ratcliffe … or maybe the gates of Hell opened up. The devil let out the spirits of the men and children I’ve murdered.”

  “You don’t believe in spooks, Your Majesty,” Ratcliffe said in a soothing voice.

  “Remember Lord Hastings? He was my loyal friend. One night at dinner, I had him dragged outside and said I wouldn’t eat till his head was cut off. The guards found a plank of wood and used that instead of a block. A sword instead of an axe. I saw him last night, Ratcliffe! He came back to haunt me!”

  “Hush, Your Majesty. The men will take it as a bad sign. They will be afraid before they go into battle.”

  But the king wasn’t listening.

  “The Princes … my nephews … my brother’s boys. Locked in the Tower. Smothered to death and buried in a secret grave.”

  “No, they were sickly children. They would have died anyway,” Ratcliffe argued quietly.