By nightfall we were in an armed camp in the hills. In the distance we could hear our soldiers celebrating the Yorkist victory in the streets of Hexham, a sight that wasn’t considered fit for boys of our age. The actual fighting had been brief, and De Castile said it was little more than a big skirmish, but it would stay with Francis and me throughout our lives.
Our forces had taken possession of Hexham Castle and Neville had made the Great Hall his main centre of operations. Later that night a messenger came from the town and told us many of the Lancastrian leaders were brought to what Neville called justice.
It wasn’t really a trial. Neville just asked for their names and then sent them off to be executed. No one objected, not even the prisoners themselves. The messenger said they even looked like men who were already dead, with blank eyes and pale faces. In the end over thirty were killed.
Later, after the messengers had gone back to Hexham, Francis and I sat over a campfire and discussed what we’d heard.
“Well, at least that’s thirty fewer Lancastrian leaders to trouble us in the future,” my friend said as he lowered himself painfully to the ground. After a day and a night in the saddle both of us had aching muscles.
“Or thirty fewer new allies made loyal by a pardon,” I finally answered, after I too had carefully sat down and found a comfortable position for my back. “My brother has forgiven his enemies before now, and some have served faithfully ever since.”
Francis shrugged. “It’s a difficult one; how can you tell who will remain loyal in gratitude and who will secretly think you weak for not carrying out the obvious punishment? What would you have done?”
I didn’t answer for a long time as I considered the question, but then I said: “What can I say? They were the enemy of the House of York, and therefore the enemy of my brother. Perhaps I’d have done the same if I’d been in Neville’s place, and perhaps the Lancastrians would have done the same to us if they’d won. But I can’t help wondering if we’ve killed men who one day could have been useful friends and allies.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Francis replied bluntly. “They’re just food for worms.”
I shuddered. How many others would die before this war finally ended?
The next day dawned grey and drizzly. The streets of Hexham were quiet at last. With his usual discipline, De Castile had ordered an early start for our journey back to Middleham, and though a few of the men had sore heads, everyone who’d survived the battle and could ride was in the saddle at first light.
Our own casualties had been light, only five knights had been killed and eight squires, though a few more than that were wounded, including Gisborough, who had a deep sword cut in his arm. He and the other injured were placed in a wagon with two monks from the Hexham priory infirmary to look after them on the journey. Gisborough’s wounds weren’t as bad as we first thought, and already he was sitting up and demanding to be allowed to ride, so I was more than hopeful he’d soon make a full recovery.
John Neville didn’t bother to see us off, a further example of his bad manners, but I suppose I couldn’t expect too much from a man who was the brother of the Earl of Warwick. In fact we clattered away with hardly anyone to see us go. Nobody waved and nobody cheered, and when we rode by the battlefield the dead remained silent.
Our own dead already lay in a mass grave dug immediately after the fighting. In fact it was still being filled in as we went by, so we did get a few waves from the gravediggers as we made our way home.
I soon found that the time after combat is quiet and sad, or quiet and full of horror. The joy of battle I’d heard veteran soldiers talk of soon fades and leaves behind it an empty space that everyone fills in their own way.
We camped that night in exactly the same place as we had when riding to Hexham, but this time there was no real need to set guards and pickets, though De Castile insisted on them.
Neither Francis nor I had much to say to each other, we just felt deadly tired and that night he shared my tent, both of us glad to know there was someone else nearby.