Wars of the Roses: Bloodline: Book 3 (The Wars of the Roses) by Conn Iggulden Read Free Book Online Page A

filled the air and the last of the soldiers trudged head down against the wind, weapons clutched in numb hands.
    Outside the town, the darkness became paler. An ancient forest of oak, holly and white birch lay thick there, able to swallow even such a host. In the gloom under its boughs, the men were allowed to rest and eat, knowingthat they merely gathered strength to fight. Blades were sharpened and leather oiled. Rotten teeth were pulled by blacksmiths with their pincers of black iron. Serjeants and camp servants simmered cauldrons of onions and stiff threads of venison. For most, the share was little more than a thin, greasy water. They still filled mugs with jealous care, watching every drop and smacking their lips.
    Those who could hunt loped away to seek out grouse and rabbit, foxes or still-hibernating hedgepigs, anything at all. The hunters had been paid for their efforts in the beginning. When there were no more coins, they had continued the work, taking a larger share for themselves instead. There had been one hunter who made a point of keeping everything he snared, once there was no money to pay him. He’d spent a night eating a fine hare over a small fire, watched by many. His body had been found hanging the following morning and no one had even heard a cry. Men died on a long march, that was all there was to it. They fell down or wandered away, blank-faced from hunger or exhaustion. Some were flogged back into line. Others were left where they fell, to breathe their last as the rest marched by and stared without shame at an interesting sight on the road.
    Once the queen’s army had some soup in their bellies, they set off, striking out into a grey dawn, heading towards the horizon as the sun began to rise. They were still strong enough, still hard enough. They had swung right round St Albans in the night, so that they came from the south-west. Some of them showed their teeth as they loped along, imagining the surprise and fear in Warwick’s men when they saw an entire ragged army just a-strolling up behind them.
    Sitting high on a fine black gelding, Warwick stared at the road stretching north. The sun was rising into a clear sky, though the wind was chill and blew right through him. The hill and town of St Albans lay at his back, topped over all by the abbey. That thought brought a twinge of irritation as he recalled Abbot Whethamstede in his finery, giving sage advice as one who had witnessed the battle on the hill six years before. As Warwick had played his own vital part in that victory for York, he could hardly understand how the older man thought it was reasonable to lecture him on the details yet again. The abbot had taken up a good portion of the previous evening with grisly descriptions, related with what appeared to be great fondness.
    Warwick shook his head to clear it. His only concern was the queen and the army coming south against him. The wonder was that they had not arrived already. Somehow, Margaret had allowed him time – and he had used it, twisting his rage and grief into ditches and ramparts. There was no road to London any more. His army had dug the land into deep clefts to ruin any cavalry charge against them. Nets of rope studded with spikes had come out of the London foundries, each upright blade twisted into the knots by hand. It was not that no one could breach such defences, but that in doing so they would have the heart torn out of them. Warwick’s plan was to whittle the queen’s larger army down, rank by rank, until the remnant was exhausted and bloody. Only then would he send in his three battles, ten thousand men to break the will and last hopes of Lancaster. He frowned at the thought, considering how little will remained in King Henry himself.
    Henry rested not far away from where Warwick surveyed the great sprawling camp. The king sat in the shadeof a bare oak tree, staring upwards through the branches, crossing in patterns above his head. The king seemed entranced. He was