Apologies for leaving this update a little late. And please enjoy!

Chapter Eight: Caught off Guard

There was no time to prepare. Arthur stumbled out of Richmond Palace still pulling on his boots, his shirt hanging loose out of his breeches, blinking into the early morning sun as he tried to process what was happening. But what he lacked in grace he made up for in eagerness to reach the areas worst hit by the overnight raiders. To that end, a barge was waiting for him on the river's edge and a company of soldiers had been despatched already, crossing the city on horseback. Accompanied by his Sergeant at Arms and three Yeomen of the Guard, they rowed north towards Shoreditch, beyond the city walls where the attacks had been the worst.

Already he could see that citizens within the walled town were arming themselves. Wooden staves were being sharpened to fine points, makeshift moats being dug around residential streets and those old enough to remember the wars were drilling the young to fight back. Arthur prayed it wouldn't come to that, that the raiders -whatever their purpose was – had got what they came for, looted a few peasant farmers outside the city and were now content. But in his head, he knew the depth of his folly.

"They attacked over night, your grace, under darkness when no one was prepared," said the Sergeant.

"A particular form of cowardice that would have made Nero blush, Sergeant Aubrey" Arthur remarked.

"Quite so, your grace."

"No standards or arms on display, I assume."

"None. But I have no doubt we'll find out who sent them before too long."

"See that you do. I will not have my own capital city attacked like this, not in so brazen a manner."

Smoke curled lazily into the clear blue skies, all along the northern edges of the city. Even this far west, Arthur could catch the smell of burning timbers being carried down wind on the river breeze. It was an ominous sign, chilling to see after so many years of peace and stability. It struck Arthur as strange that a raiding party would attack them, something invaders would do rather than any self-respecting English army. Concerns he thought were probably insignificant right there and then.

"How many dead?"

"Eight that we know of so far, your grace. But there will be more."

"And the raiders, they have definitely gone?"

"The Lord Mayor has sent out a company of the three hundred troops to scout the area beyond the city walls, your grace. They cannot have gone far and who knows if they plan on returning."

"I want more men patrolling the battlements and ready the Tower," said Arthur. "Barricade the river. The Thames is the city's weakest spot. Evacuate Shoreditch, Fleet and Aldersgate – bring them all within the walls for protection. We have provisions enough for everyone for the time being."

"But not for long, a couple of weeks at most," the Sergeant replied, brow creased with concern. "Your grace, those walls were built by the Romans one thousand years ago. They are sturdy enough, but these days there is more of London beyond them than within them. Not every citizen of the city will be able to seek shelter there."

Arthur suppressed a curse. The logistics of protecting every person in London were already giving him a headache, but the notion of leaving the poor and the vulnerable to shift for themselves was anathema to him. "For now, we have enough food and supplies to take care of their needs so we press ahead. If it comes to it, Queen Katherine and Princess Mary will begin organising alms and soup kitchens to feed the destitute. And let's hope these raiding parties are not part of a bigger problem, Sergeant Aubrey."

"Speaking frankly, your grace, I would strongly recommend moving the Queen and the Princess to the Tower," Aubrey replied. "You no longer live within the walled city yourselves, and it would be safer all round in the country's strongest fortress."

It was a sensible idea, but one that made Arthur's blood run cold. His memories of the Cornish Rebellions stirred from some stagnant place at the back of his mind, when the rebels had come within just a few short miles of the city. He, his mother, siblings and grandmother had all been herded into the Tower for their own safety, while his father rode out to face the rebels across the battlefield. Even now, he could remember lying awake in bed, covering his ears to try and block out the distant echoing booms of canon-fire and the relentlessly tolling warning bells. He would do anything to avoid going back there under such circumstances, no matter how grave the odds.

As the past came back to haunt him, Arthur was struck by another idea. His grandmother's old residence, Baynard's Castle. "Yes, let it be known that the women are being taken to the Tower. But, if we are coming under attack, take them instead to Baynard's Castle. I want them hidden, as well as protected. Baynard's is easy to defend, is it not?"

He had expected the other man to argue, instead he looked gratified. "Yes, your grace. As you wish. Your grandmother's household is not yet dismantled – they will care for your sister and wife."

After an hour on the river, they reached north London where they disembarked quickly. Already survivors of the attacks were trickling through the open gates, carrying all they owned in their arms or leading pigs and cows on leashes of string. Crying babies were carried in slings on the backs of exhausted mothers, barefoot children ran amok until someone clipped their ear and they fell into line once more. The adults, those old enough to know they had lost everything, look stunned and dead-eyed as they plodded along the packed earth road to the city. Arthur watched them in dismay.

"Give the order to open the Churches, if they haven't already," he said to the General. "St Mary's, St Swithin's, even St Paul's. There will be plenty of room for all of them to take shelter if the church cooperates and extends its charity to these refugees."

"Very well, your grace."

While the order was passed to a subordinate, Arthur mounted the horse a local stable had agreed to loan him. He was set on riding out beyond the city to inspect the damage for himself. Although the raid had lasted for barely a couple of hours, the sheer numbers of dispossessed suggested the raiders had made the most of what little time they had. Steering his mount toward Moorsgate, counter to the heavy flow of people and carts making their way inside, he set off at a trot. It was slow going, but once they were in Shoreditch, the streets widened and the built up areas grew sparse.

Urging their horses to a gallop, they barely made it a mile before they came across the first settlement that had been laid waste. A field of crops was still burning, aided by the hot sun that was now high in the sky and a gentle breeze was only fanning the flames further. A chain of soldiers in Tudor livery had formed a chain, passing buckets of water in an effort to keep the fires under control. Houses made from wattle and daub had been all but knocked down and, in the distance, a barn was burning from which the acrid stench of flesh emanated. Whoever owned the farm had lost their livelihood, if not their lives.

Despondent, Arthur dismounted his horse to survey the scene. He nudged at an ember with the toe of his boot, shaking his head and at a loss for words. In the end, it was Sergeant Aubrey who spoke. "Look, soldiers heading this way."

"Ours or theirs?" Arthur asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and looked into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun. The oncoming soldiers were specks on the horizon, an indistinct blur.

"Get back on your horse, your grace, it might be the enemy."

Arthur did so, noticing that the soldiers passing buckets had also stopped and prepared themselves to fight. They all breathed a sigh of relief as the soldiers drew nearer, and an outrider bearing the Tudor standard came into clear view. Their voices could also be heard, calling out in a panic. As soon as they were close enough, the nearest soldier jumped down from his horse before it had even come to a halt. He was dusty and sweating, breathless from the chase.

"It's a trap. That was no raiding party, there's a whole army encamped two miles away and they drew us out and killed all but us five, who managed to only just get away."

As if emphasising the soldier's point, loose horses whose riders had been killed could be seen in the distance. Still saddled, reins trailing in the dirt, they cantered anxiously or meandered around the Thames, lapping at the dirty water. Blood stains were visible in the white fur of some. It made Arthur's stomach sink in dismay.

"How many?" Aubrey asked. "Who sent them? What is all this in aid of?"

"They bore the arms of Buckingham and Surrey, sir," the soldier replied. "An army of at least a thousand infantry and heavy cavalry too."

Arthur reeled. "Buckingham? Surrey? Why would they do this?"

"My King," said the soldier. "It is said His Grace the Duke of York is also with him."

"Oh, that stupid fucking child!" Arthur reeled. From despair to anger on the turn of a hair.

Aubrey, a man who had seen it all several times over, looked shocked. "Your brother? You believe this?"

"Believe it, Sergeant, I should have expected it."

Arthur was cursing himself, running his hands agitatedly through his hair as he tried to get a hold of himself. They had no time to evacuate, no time to prepare. From Shoreditch to Holborn and Fleet, all were vulnerable to more attacks and raids unless the royal army stopped them. Countless men, women and children placed in danger. Arthur felt nauseous as he tried to decide on the right course of action.

"We're going to have to meet them in the open field," he said, at length. "We're going to have to stake everything on the outcome of one battle because we literally have no other choice. There's no time to prepare for a siege, London no longer fits inside its protective walls and I'm damn certain I'm not letting Henry and his henchmen going raiding and pillaging all over the city as it suits them. We end this and we end it tonight. Aubrey, go to Katherine and let her know what's happening-"

"You need to come too, my king. You are not a soldier."

"I know, but I must rally the troops anyway; I will not have men fight and die for an absent king. Go now to Queen Katherine and enact the plan we agreed."

Brooking no further argument, Sergeant Aubrey kicked his horse's flanks and broke into a gallop. Arthur watched him disappear into the suburbs of Shoreditch, wishing him god speed. Then he took a deep breath. An army of over a thousand were at the gates. He had sent over one hundred of his own troops to Yorkshire to drag Henry back, they were low on shot after the coronation and the scouting party Aubrey had dispatched were all dead. Things were bad, he realised. They were very fucking bad.

Red faced and sweating profusely, Sergeant Aubrey spilled the whole story to Katherine. Before he had even finished recounting events, she was flinging clothes and jewels into a chest, ready for her escape. But even as she worked away at the heart of the chaos, she listened and planned. She broke off every so often to issue commands and instructions, hoping it would make good speed. Then she rounded on Princess Mary as she passed by in a hurry. "We have Buckingham's daughter. Mary, get her and bring her straight here. She's our hostage now."

"Shall I go too?" asked Aubrey.

Katherine considered it, but thought better of it. "She and Mary are friends and she doesn't know her father has rebelled. They haven't spoken in weeks. So let's not panic her. She is the only thing we have to bargain with."

There was a moment of silence, both of them thinking the same thing. Eventually, it was the Sergeant who spoke. "And if Lady Eleanor is not enough to bring her father to heel?"

Katherine steeled herself. "Make sure he knows Eleanor is with you. Give him every opportunity to surrender. Make sure he understands that you are serious. And if that is still not enough … his daughter will be hanged."

"And her blood will be on his hands, gracious lady, not yours."

"Nor yours, Sergeant Aubrey."

"Now please, make haste. Everyone must think you're going to the Tower, but the King commanded you to be at Baynard's Castle."

The fact that there was so little time served only to panic Katherine even more. She whirled from room to room, snatching up random precious items, things she couldn't afford to lose, whatever garments of clothing came within her grasp. She didn't stop to see if anything matched or still fit, not until Maria de Salinas caught up with her and held her still.

"I found three heavy cloaks, in case we need cover ourselves," said Maria. "You, me, Princess Mary."

They were bundled in her arms, spilling to the floor. Something practical, that Katherine hadn't even considered in the heat of the moment. She kissed her old friend's cheek, took the cloaks and laid them out of the bed. They would need them for their flight to Baynard's Castle.

Eventually, after what felt like being caught in a whirlwind and spat out the other side, Katherine found herself being led through an escape route out of Richmond Palace and through a sallyport door which led directly onto the river. Two barges awaited her, with Maria in one of them. Katherine breathed a sigh of relief at seeing her there, but one question remained. "Where is Princess Mary?"

"We don't have time to wait," said Maria. "She will come in the second barge."

There was no time to argue. Katherine climbed in beside Maria, with two yeomen hauling her chest in after her. A chest full of things she did not want to lose in case the city was taken and the palace overrun. The two women pulled their cloaks up tight, lowering the hoods over their faces before they set sail. Thus far, amidst all the panic and chaos, Katherine hadn't had time to think the worst might happen. Now, on the boat with only Maria, she allowed the cold dread to come seeping in and she let the tears fill her eyes.

Word spread fast that Katherine had been taken to the Tower. With both the King and Queen gone from court, the remainder of the guards abandoned their posts and hurried to join the battlefield north of the city, leaving Richmond all but unprotected. But Mary was not afraid. In her search for Eleanor Stafford she ran from room to room, calling the other girl's name as she ducked and weaved through the press of bodies hurrying to vacate the palace. She tried to grab people, to get them to stop and tell her where her quarry was. But few did, only Arthur's new priest, Wolsey, pointed her in the direction of the north wing, where he had seen Lady Stafford last. Suppressing the urge to scream in frustration, Mary continued her search, refusing to give up.

Until she circled back and found herself in Arthur's privy chamber. She came crashing to a halt at the sight of Lady Eleanor, keys in hand. "There you are, we've been looking for you."

Eleanor didn't say anything. She stood, frozen to the spot, clutching the ring of iron keys in her hand. Then Mary knew. It hit her like a slap in the face. "You knew. This … this was all part of the plan. You being here, it was planned."

"Princess Mary, let me go and I will not hurt you. No one will hurt you."

"God's death you will, you sly little bitch!"

Without consciously thinking about it, Mary had reached for an iron poker by the hearth and gripped it in her hands. Eleanor backed up until she hit the rear wall.

"King Henry doesn't wish for you to be harmed so stand back, Mary, and all will be well."

"King Henry," Mary mouthed, incredulous. "I'll give you 'King Henry' you vile whore!"

Without thinking, Mary swung the poker but missed. Eleanor ducked out of the way and tried to escape, until Mary launched herself at her and tackled her to the ground. Dragging her up by the hair, Eleanor lashed out with fists and feet as the air was filled with their curses. Mary didn't know what the keys were, but they seemed important and she tried to get at them. But as she did so, Eleanor succeeded in pushing her away so hard she toppled over backwards, head over heels. Blinded by her own skirts, she was fighting against her self as she tried to stand.

By the time Mary scrambled to her feet, Eleanor was half-way out the door. She threw herself at the other woman, but only managed to grab at her girdle, pulling it off as she fled. The door slammed in Mary's face, the bar falling and shutting her in. Nevertheless, she tried. She kicked the door and succeeded only in hurting her foot. "Help!" she called out, but she knew there was no one out there to hear. "Let me out!"

Alone, she momentarily let her emotions get the better of her. Her vision blurring with tears she refused to let fall. But she kept her wits about her and barred the chamber door from her side and then secured the rear door too. No one would be able to get in and she wouldn't unbar the doors until Arthur returned. She then crossed the room to a window embrasure, where she could look out over the city skyline. It was late, but high summer and still broad daylight. The streets were empty, something was burning far in the distance – warning beacons. Cannon fire shook the foundations and Mary decided she had seen enough. She lay down on Arthur's bed and screamed into his pillow.

Arthur was no soldier, but the same could never be said of Charles Brandon. He sat atop his destrier warhorse like he'd been born there, sword in hand as he cantered up and down the lines of archers. Every few minutes, his voice boomed the command to "nock … draw … loose!" sending another hail of arrows sailing into the advancing rebel lines, just meters across the open field. Arthur's was amongst them, for while he had no skill with sword or command, he could at least shoot an arrow; he did all he could with what little prowess he had.

The royal archers were only buying time. With enough arrows constantly raining down on the enemy, it slowed their advance and allowed Brandon time to organise the cavalry charge. It was that which Arthur dreaded most. The moment when the real carnage would begin, as two heavily armed opposing lines of mounted knights collided in steal and blades. He had never seen it, but his father's stories returned to him as he lay bellow down on the edge of a small incline that was their front line.

"Nock! Draw! Loose!" Brandon's voice cut through the noise once more.

Whenever the rebel army returned fire, Arthur had to duck down behind someone else's shield and flinch as the enemy arrowheads thudded into the wood. He then reached around, pulled them out and gave them back to the rebels via his own bow. As he did, he scanned the lines of faces in search of his brother. Would Henry be brave enough to fight? He had always talked a good battle so it came as little surprise to find him seemingly absent from the real thing.

Meanwhile, the royal cavalry charge mounted up. Arthur glanced over his shoulder to find himself faced with a wall of destriers, eyes rolling, hooves stamping at the hard-packed earth and their flanks slick with foam. The smell of blood was agitating them, jeering them up for the charge ahead. Then, from the other side of the battlefield, a low rumble like the sound of distant thunder grew steadily louder. It was time.

"Your Grace, move."

It was Aubrey commanding him now, gripping him by the arm and dragging him out of the way of the horses. Arthur scrambled to his feet, finding a crack in the wall of the cavalry to get behind them. There he found Charles Brandon, taking up his place at the head of the cavalry charge. "Arthur, get back to the city now!"

"I can't just leave!" he protested.

Charles was off his horse in a trice, lifting Arthur bodily to remove him from the battle. "You'll thank me in the morning when you're still alive to see another sunrise. Now go!"

Unceremoniously dropped clear of the impending carnage, Arthur could only watch as Charles returned to his men just in time for the charge. The noise of hundreds of destriers galloping across the open field was deafening, the moment of impact when the two sides met, even worse. The air was full of shouts and curses, death grunts as swords were thrust through throats and hacked at the legs of horses. Arthur rose, stumbling as he tried to get back towards Shoreditch, falling into the arms of Sir William Willoughby as he did so.

"Katherine's at Baynard's Castle with my sister and Maria," he blurted out. "Once this is over, get to her and get them all to safety. Promise me?"

"I swear it, your grace."

Willoughby was head over heels in love with Maria, it was the palace's worst kept secret. For that reason alone Arthur trusted the man's word. He wheeled past him, just as Willoughby drew his sword to plunge himself into the fray. With no other choice but to trust he would survive, Arthur ran on foot back towards the deserted streets of Shoreditch.

Breathless and sweating, Arthur ducked down a side street and vaulted an empty pig pen. Set back from the main thoroughfare, he was hidden from view while still being able to hear the sounds of the battle. The clash of steel on steel, the screams of dying horses cut off at the legs as the rebels broke the royal lines. Realising the tide was turning against them, Arthur pushed off again. He needed to reach the gates before the rebel army, even if they were locked. A guard would let him in.

Moorsgate was closest. He could hear the rebel army getting closer, the sound of their triumphant shouts and the horses hooves against the cobbles. Picking up his own pace, he swung around the corner and kept running, his feet slipping on the slick cobbles. He reached the gate and found it wide open. He came to a halt, unsure what to do next. There were no guards, there was no defence. The gate was useless.

There was nothing Arthur could do but save himself. The streets were empty, so he followed his instincts south to the river just as the first of the rebel army breached the walls. Stomach churning with nerves, he crashed to a halt again as he saw a figure moving rapidly down the street towards Bishopsgate, her long cloak billowing out behind her.

"Wait!" he called out to her. "It's not safe. The rebels are coming."

Surely she could hear them as well as he could. Regardless, she did not turn around. She didn't even break her pace, carrying on set on her path. Arthur gave chase, fearing she would get herself raped and killed by the marauding soldiers charging their way.

"Didn't you hear me, I said it's not safe." He clasped her shoulder, spinning her around. "Lady Eleanor!"

The combined armies and Buckingham and Surrey were already pouring through Moorsgate, opened by her he realised. Now they faced each other and Arthur was at a loss for words.

"First you sister, and now you," she said, words barely audible over the stampede. "The day is lost for you, Arthur. You should flee while you can."

"You're going to Henry. Take me to him. I want to speak with him."

She glanced from Arthur's hand on her shoulder, to a place just beyond Arthur's left. A smile working its way across her face. "He's already here."

"Let her go Arthur."

A shiver of apprehension ran the length of Arthur's spine as he turned to face his brother. Eleanor bolted the second he let go of her, but he no longer cared about her. He no longer cared about Buckingham or Surrey, either. Nor the marauding armies swarming the city. It was just him and Henry, and it felt like they were the last two people alive in the whole of England.

Henry had been in the fight. A smear of blood marred his brow, mud was splattered across his breastplate. The crossbow in his hands now trained on Arthur's heart. Out of all the thoughts crashing through his mind, Arthur could pick out only one word.

"Why?"

"Because you were never going to stop me."

"You never gave me the chance. This was not a fair fight-"

"But the outcome is the same," Henry cut him off, stepping closer and tightening his bow. The twine creaked, the arrowhead glinting in the failing light. "I am King now and you will kneel."

Arthur pulled the ring from his finger, the one that wed him to his realm. His mouth was dry, but he managed to form the words he needed as he knelt at his brother's feet. "Call off your army, cease the attack, don't let them rape and kill innocent people. I beg you. The crown is yours."

Henry lowered the crossbow, his gaze flitting between Arthur's face and the gold coronation ring clutched in his hand. Braced for the end, Arthur closed his eyes and pictured Katherine, every infinite detail of her filled his mind, the last thing he wanted to see before he faced the final judgement. He wished that he had danced with her on their wedding night. His last regret was interrupted as a white charger galloped past them, the rider lashing out at Henry with his booted foot – a deliberate and well timed blow that sent Henry sprawling sideways into the dirt. Without thinking, Arthur closed his fist around the ring and scrambled to his feet. The rider kept galloping south toward the river, with Arthur sprinting after him, noting the rider wore no armour. He was not a combatant. As a he ran, he slid the ring back on his finger, the jewels forming the St George's cross catching the starlight that now shone from the skies.

He wished he had seized Henry's crossbow and put a bolt through his heart. It was too late now and his brother had regained his wits, giving chase and firing at him. Arthur swung around the street corner, making good speed toward the river, despite his lungs burning and his legs aching. London bridge shone in the distance, Arthur reaching it just as someone kicked him in the thigh. He staggered forwards, almost falling over, but righted himself at the last second.

The pain in his thigh wouldn't let up, only growing worse and pulsing fresh waves of agony with every footstep. At the peak of the bridge, he fell clutching at his leg. Rolling on his back, he tried to catch his breath as he checked his hand now slick with blood. Cursing aloud, he glanced down to see the bolt buried deep in his thigh. Meanwhile, Henry was closing in on him again, aiming another shot. Arthur dodged it by rolling sharply to the left, over reaching the railing of the bridge. He was plunging into the water before he knew it, hitting the surface with a loud splash and sinking fast into the deep, cold waters of the river Thames.

Thank you for reading. A review would be much appreciated if you have a minute.