The Red Rose of Anjou

THE KING-MAKER

Henry was delighted to receive Jasper Tudor, the Earl of Pembroke, who was in good spirits. His brother Edmund, Earl of Richmond – a title, like that of Jasper, owed to the goodwill of the King, for if he had not recognized them they would have no titles and very few possessions – was unable to attend.

He had not been well of late. If he had he would have hastened to tell the King of his good fortune. His wife, Margaret Beaufort, whom the King had so obligingly arranged for him to marry, was pregnant and there was great joy in the family.

‘It is wonderful news,’ cried Henry, always delighted in other people’s good fortune. ‘And how is Margaret?’

‘Margaret is well and so much looking forward to the event.’

‘She is a little young to bear a child.’

‘She is not quite fourteen,’ said Jasper. ‘Young, yes, but she is mature enough. They are very happy together and this child will bless their union. My father, I and our sister are full of delight. We hope for a boy, of course.’

‘I understand that but I doubt not you will be grateful for whatever the Lord sends you.’

‘Indeed yes. Margaret is young. It is good that she has proved so soon that she is fruitful.’

When Jasper had left, Henry told the Queen the good news. Margaret could understand their delight in the coming of a child. She herself had waited a long time and now her boy was the joy of her life. She was a little irritated by the Tudors though because some of the titles Henry had bestowed on them had been taken from her. The Pembroke estates in particular had at first been assigned to her and she had not at all liked giving them up for Jasper. Having had little in her youth and been the daughter of a man who was constantly in debt she cherished her possessions with something like fanaticism. Still, the Lancastrian cause needed men like the Tudors. All their blessings came from Henry, their benefactor as well as their half-brother, and so she did not openly show her resentment over the Pembroke estates, but welcomed the Tudors whenever they came to Court. She showed an interest in their affairs, and now rejoiced with Henry in their good fortune.

I trust all will go well with Margaret,’ said Henry, ‘She is really nothing but a child herself

‘She will be all right,’ said Margaret lightly. Other people’s difficulties were always light-weight in her opinion.

Henry said: I have asked to have news of the birth as soon as it happens.’

‘Well, we shall expect messengers from Wales with the good news.’

It was a grey November day when the messengers came. They clearly did not bring good news.

When Henry heard they had arrived he was filled with apprehension. It was not yet time for the birth, for he had understood it was to be in January.

It was Owen Tudor himself who came. Bad news indeed.

‘My dear Owen,’ cried the King, ‘what is it? Not Margaret? Oh, I feared she was too young.’

‘Margaret is sick with sorrow, my lord.’ Owen seemed unable to go on.

‘My dear Owen,’ began the King, ‘she is young...There will be more.’

Owen shook his head. ‘It is my son, your half-brother...Edmund.’

‘Edmund? What of Edmund?’

‘He is dead, my lord.’

‘Dead? Edmund? But how...? Killed...? Murdered?’

‘Nay, my lord. It was some malady. It attacked him suddenly and...’

‘But he is so young.’

‘Twenty-six, my lord.’ Owen turned away. He was remembering the day Katherine had told him that she was going to have a child and how their delight had mingled with their apprehension when they had arranged for the reluctant priest to marry them. It was all long ago...twenty-six years... those happy days which he often looked back to. He remembered so much of them...the quietness of life at Hadham; the peace of the gardens...the happiness of obscurity. What fools they had been—what idyllic fools, to think that a Queen could ever be left in peace.

‘My dear Owen, this is such sorrow. I will pray for his soul. Poor Edmund. And poor Margaret.’

‘The child is due in two months’ time.’

‘Yes, I know. I trust this will do no damage.’

‘Jasper has taken charge of her. That is why he is not here with me. He has taken her to Pembroke Castle. He will keep her there until the child is born.’

‘Jasper is a good man.’

‘He was devoted to his brother. We are a devoted family, my lord.’

‘I thank God for it.’

‘There is nothing we can do now but wait for the birth of the child.’

‘Go back now to Pembroke, Owen. Convey my regrets to Margaret. Tell her my thoughts are with her and I shall remember her in my prayers.’

‘That will comfort her, I know.’

After Owen had left Henry thought a great deal about the sad young girl who was about to become a mother. He mentioned her in his prayers whenever he prayed and as he was constantly engaged in prayer that meant very frequently.

Poor young girl, he thought. But Jasper is a good man. He will look after the child for the sake of his brother if nothing else.

It was January when the news came from Pembroke.

It was good news this time. Margaret had been safely delivered of a boy.

Owen himself rode over soon after the messenger had brought the news and Henry received him with open arms and embraced him warmly.

‘So you are a grandfather, eh, Owen?’

‘I am proud to be,’ said Owen.

‘It is the best news. Margaret has come through safely in spite of her youth and the terrible shock she has suffered.’

‘And the child is a fine healthy boy.’

‘God has sent him to comfort her.’

‘She is happy in the child, and she has been most touched by your concern for her. I have given her all your tender loving messages and I am sure they were of great help. She wanted only one name for the child. It is Henry.’

The King laughed. ‘So he is my namesake. God bless little Henry Tudor.’

Ever since the Love Day celebration Margaret had been very restive. Considering her present situation and consulting with her closest adherents, those nobles whom she thought of as the leaders of the Court party such as young Somerset. Egremont, Clifford, Northumberland, Exeter and Rivers, she had come to the conclusion that Warwick was an even greater enemy than York.

There was some charismatic aura about Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. He was the sort of man whom nature seemed to have destined to play an important part in the affairs of a nation. Who was he? In the first place son of the Earl of Salisbury, and he would have been of no great importance while his father lived. But what should he do but marry Anne Beauchamp, daughter of the Earl of Warwick. Yet at the time of the marriage two lives stood between him and possession of the Warwick title and the vast estates that went with it. Nature conveniently removed those obstacles and on the death of the Earl, Richard Neville took the title.

It was not only good fortune that he possessed. He had not only strength, ruthlessness, love of adventure; he was a man to mould affairs. It was a pity that he had allied himself with York instead of standing by his King.

Since he had taken the governorship of Calais he had become a menace to the French; and while he was in possession of Calais, it was considerably to York’s advantage.

Margaret was angry. She had wanted young Somerset to have Calais. She had pleaded with Henry to give it to him, but Henry, in this new found strength of his, was stubbornly refusing to accede to her wishes.

‘It would never do, Margaret,’ he said. ‘The people have a fondness for Warwick. They think of him as a hero in the southeast of the country.’

‘He is nothing but a pirate. He brings us into disrepute with the French.’

‘My dear, the French are not exactly friendly with us, are they? Oh, I know they are your people and you love them, which is natural. I would not expect that to be otherwise. But you must remember that you are English now and it is in our successes that you must rejoice.’

‘In Warwick’s? In your enemy’s?’

‘But he is one of our great Earls. He walked with Exeter in the procession. There was amity between us.’

Oh, what was the use of talking to Henry! Some might say that the French were acting as privateers in the Channel and that Warwick was merely retaliating. It might be pointed out that in the last years the high seas had become profitable for pirates and that Warwick was taking his share and not leaving all the pickings to the French. Margaret would not listen. She hated Warwick—even more than she hated York and she wanted Calais for Somerset. She wanted to make sure that that important town was not in the hands of her enemies.

An opportunity came which she seized eagerly. It was not Margaret’s way to consider the advantages and disadvantages of a situation. She was entirely optimistic when an idea occurred to her and impatient with any who might try to point out flaws in the arrangements she planned.

Warwick had gone too far in his latest exploit. He had intercepted ships carrying cargo from Lübeck. It was a very different matter intercepting ships from France with whom the country had been on terms of war for so long, but there was an agreement between Lübeck and England which had been made only two years before. To intercept and carry off these ships was therefore a flagrant violation of that treaty.

Margaret immediately called her friends together and made sure that Henry was not present and knew nothing of the meeting.

‘This is outrageous,’ she cried, her eyes flashing and gleaming with triumph. ‘But it delivers Warwick into our hands. I shall call together a council which will be headed by you, my lord Rivers and others we shall appoint, and the Earl of Warwick shall be commanded to relinquish his post. As it will be offered to you, my lord Somerset, it might be well if you did not attend the first meeting of the Council. This is going to be the end of Warwick’s power in Calais.’

It was an easy matter to get the Council to agree for they were all members of the Court party, all adherents of Lancaster, all against York, and in great delight Margaret sent an embassy to Calais, informing Warwick that he was to relinquish his post forthwith as it had been unanimously decided that in view of the Lübeck action, he was no longer fitted to hold it.

Warwick’s answer was what might have been expected.

‘It was the Parliament who appointed me. I shall certainly not resign unless on order from Parliament. I take no heed of inner councils which lack parliamentary authority.’

Margaret fumed with rage. The Parliament would not agree to force him to resign, she knew. They considered what the effect of his resignation would be on the people of London and the south-east who had grown rich while he was governor of Calais. They said he made the Channel safe for English shipping; they liked their buccaneer. It appealed to them to think of his terrorizing the old enemy the French; the booty he captured was sent over to England and that was enriching the land.

Somerset had done nothing to recommend himself except ingratiate himself with the Queen and that went against him with quite a number of people.

Once again Warwick had flouted her. But she saw a glimmer of hope.

Warwick was coming over to England—no doubt to harangue the Parliament and tell them he was the best man for Calais and if they wanted to see England triumphant in France again they needed men such as he was.

Margaret would not see the truth of this. But Warwick was an enemy and she wanted to destroy him.

It was not impossible. She wondered who to take into her confidence. It must appear natural of course. There were continual quarrels between the wearers of the red and white roses and these often resulted in bloodshed. A brawl between them would not seem of any special significance, but if such a brawl occurred in a certain place and Warwick was there and he was slain...it would be difficult to attach blame to anyone, least of all the Queen.

Warwick would be at Westminster. He was coming to explain to the Council the position at Calais; to tell them what a fine fellow he was, of course, thought Margaret. Well, while he was at Westminster Hall there should be a quarrel between Warwick’s retainers and those of the royal household. Warwick should be brought hurrying from the council chamber and there must be those waiting for him. They must fall upon him, kill him and then mingle in the general affray.

It seemed comparatively simple to Margaret. Then with Warwick out of the way York would have lost his most powerful friend. York without Warwick was far less formidable than he was at the moment. Warwick had the south east of the country with him and he was fast becoming known as a hero, one of those men who went into battle carrying the certainty of victory with them like a flag.

The day was set. Margaret was waiting in an atmosphere of increasing tension for news to reach her of her enemy’s death.

Warwick arrived at Westminster Hall with his retinue prominently displaying his badge of the Ragged Staff which was recognized all over the country and being applauded wherever it was seen.

He left his men in the hall while he went along into the council chamber. He had not been there for more than five or six minutes when the fighting broke out in the hall. One of the King’s men had jostled a bearer of the Ragged Staff; muttering disparaging remarks against Warwick.

Warwick’s men hit out at the King’s man who immediately brought out a dagger. It was the cue. The royal servants were prepared to do the Queen’s bidding and in a matter of seconds the brawl had started. Warwick’s men were taken a little by surprise. Although they were prepared for insults they had not thought it would be as deadly as it was proving to be. They rushed at the assailants crying ‘Á Warwick! Á Warwick!’

Warwick himself hearing the turmoil came rushing out of the council chamber as Margaret had guessed he would.

It was the sign. Those who were ready to kill him dashed forward. But he was too quick for them and while he parried the blow he was surrounded by his own men, for they had realized almost at once that this was no ordinary brawl. This was an attempt to assassinate their leader. They would defend him with their lives and this they proceeded to do.

Warwick, bold adventurer that he was, saw at once that he was in a very dangerous position. His men were outnumbered and the purpose of this affray was to kill him. His only hope lay in escape. His well-trained men grasped the situation immediately. They cut a path through the shouting royalists and Warwick hurried through it. Several of his men guarded him while he with a few friends made his way out of the hall.

There was not a moment to lose. Even the gallant men of the Ragged Staff could not hold the royalists off indefinitely. Warwick’s barges were at the river’s edge and he and a few friends rushed to them and were on their way up river when their pursuers howling with frustrated rage came dashing down to the water’s edge.

‘We must make for Sandwich with all speed,’ said the Earl. ‘I shall return to Calais at once. I see I am unsafe here. The Queen has decided to murder me.’

Before he crossed, however, he sent messengers to his father Salisbury and to his uncle-in-law, the Duke of York, telling them of the assassination attempt and that he believed the Queen was responsible for it.

Warwick also sent messages to the Council which he had so hastily been forced to leave.

The Parliament had appointed him to Calais, he said. He would not give it up. He would abandon his estates in England rather.

Margaret was frustrated. Her scheme had failed; perhaps it had been clumsy, not well enough thought out; and now Warwick knew that there had been a plot to assassinate him and he would suspect the Queen was at the bottom of it.

Letters came to Calais from Salisbury and York telling Warwick that the Queen was preparing to attack. They believed that the plot against Warwick was the first step in her campaign. They would very soon be going into battle, for York had discovered that Margaret believed the King was popular enough to rally the people to his cause.

Warwick must return to England. They needed him.

Warwick considered this. Henry was useless in the role of King; more and more the real ruler would become Margaret. That would be disaster for England...and Warwick.

It was men such as Warwick who made Kings and Warwick had decided that York was the man to be King...York guided by Warwick.

He must leave Calais. He would take with him his trained men of the Ragged Staff to seek victory in the war against the Lancastrians.

Warwick rode through England from Sandwich to London in the style of a king. Everywhere the people of Kent came out to cheer him. They called him the Captain of Calais and he reminded them of the old days when England had kings worthy to lead them, when victory was the order of the day. Warwick was of that kind.

He knew it. He revelled in it. He thought: when the time comes I will make York a king.

His captains were led by Andrew Trollope and John Blount— two of the finest soldiers one could wish to meet who would serve him well, he believed, but they had implied with the utmost firmness that they would not take up arms against the King.

This was no conflict with the King, he had pointed out. This was a battle between certain noblemen. Henry was King—all accepted that. But the Queen chose his ministers; the Queen worked with the French against the English. What they had to do was to prevent that, to set up a council of ministers who would make sure that the best men ruled and the Queen was not allowed to pursue her treacherous way. All the captains saw the point of that and they were proud to march through the country flourishing the badge of the Ragged Staff.

Even so the people did not flock to march under his banner. They had had enough of war. They wanted no more, least of all civil war. Peace was what they wanted, peace and prosperity.

Sensing the mood of the Londoners, Warwick skirted the city and made for his home ground of Warwick. There he heard a sorry story. There had been raids by the Lancastrians. All over the country the people were taking sides and as a well-known supporter of his uncle-in-law York, his lands were considered fair game by the Lancastrians.

He was convinced that it was time to march against the Queen, and decided to make his way immediately to Ludlow where he would join York.

His father, the Earl of Salisbury, was in the meantime on the road to Ludlow and with him were his two sons. Sir John and Thomas Neville. As they were approaching Blore Heath to their great consternation they saw in the distance an armed force advancing towards them. It was too late to turn back. They had been seen, and within a very short time it became clear that they were about to encounter Lancastrians on the march.

Salisbury was greatly outnumbered.

‘We’ll beat them, never fear,’ said John Neville. ‘One of us is as good as three of them.’

It was the old cry of those who were going into battle against great odds. Salisbury did not like it. But there was no help for it. They must stand and fight.

The battle was swift and bloody. Men were dying all around. The Yorkists fought so fiercely that they were able to hold their ground against superior numbers until nightfall and then there was such confusion that Salisbury and those of his men who had come through the encounter were able to get away, which they thought the wisest course of action. It was with great sorrow that Salisbury learned that his two sons had been captured. They had been over bold, it seemed, in pursuing the enemy.

The fortunes of war, thought Salisbury ruefully; but at least he had escaped to ride on to Ludlow.

He would carry the news that the country was rising and taking sides.

Warwick arrived at Ludlow soon after his father. He too had encountered a hostile force. This was led by the Duke of Somerset but Warwick, seeing that they could be grossly outnumbered if they paused to fight and being sure that he could be of more use to the cause alive, gave the order to fly as they could and thus they avoided an encounter.

It was disconcerting to hear that his father had had a similar adventure and that his two brothers, John and Thomas, were in the hands of the enemy.

York greeted them with the utmost warmth and Cecily made them very welcome. She knew that Warwick was the brightest star of the Yorkist party for his reputation since he had gone to Calais had increased tremendously. He was reckoned to be the most outstanding man in the country. Cecily took note of such things.

York’s eldest son, Edward Earl of March, was fascinated by Warwick, and clearly proud of the family connection. It seemed to young Edward that Warwick embodied all the virtues of manhood. Edward was seventeen now, even more handsome than he had been as a boy; he had already topped six feet and was still growing. He was strong, full of vigour and determined on success, and Warwick liked the look of him as much as Edward liked Warwick. His brother Edmund, Earl of Rutland, younger by a year, lacked Edward’s outstanding good looks and spirits, but he was a fine boy all the same. York should be proud of them—and clearly was.

Young Edward came to their conferences. He was all for going into the attack. Wild, of course, thought Warwick, but he

was a bit that way himself. He was beginning to think that this young Edward might have qualities of leadership which were lacking in his father. Warwick mused that the Duke of York could have been King after the battle of St. Albans, but he could never quite overcome his scruples. It showed a good and just nature perhaps, but there were moments when kings could not afford such luxuries.

Warwick rejoiced that York had a son, for if York were to fall in battle there would be someone very worthy indeed to step straight into his shoes.

It was disconcerting to discover that the Queen had gathered together a sizeable army. Even Warwick was dismayed to see by how many they would be outnumbered.

Young Edward was boastful, and said he was glad that there were so few of them against the enemy. He was trying to be another Henry the Fifth. Well, it was a good sign.

Moreover Margaret sent messengers into the Yorkist camp to tell the men that if any of them put down their arms they would be freely pardoned. This made York very uneasy for he knew that his followers while they deplored the state of the country and knew it came through bad government, could not rid themselves of the belief that they were fighting against the King. It was amazing how Henry had managed to win their loyalty. They knew that he was a near saint; they knew of his love of prayer and learning. If only he had had the strength to govern, if only he had not been the tool of a ferocious Frenchwoman who had no judgment and was not above an act or two of treachery, they would never have thought of coming against him. They were not against him, they insisted. They were against the Queen and her advisers. If she would make York Protector again and Warwick was left to guard Calais for them they would be content.

But the Queen was stubborn; she would rather fight than work with York.

‘Once again,’ said York, I will send a message to the King as I did before the battle of St. Albans. I will tell him that we are his loyal subjects, but there are certain matters which must be set right.’

The Lancastrian army was before Ludlow; they had camped to the south of the town in the fields which were watered by the River Teme. Margaret was in good spirits. She knew that the people wanted to be loyal to their King. She had men and arms but her greatest asset was Henry himself.

Though he hated battle so much she had insisted on his accompanying the army. He had been so reluctant that she had worked indefatigably, pointing out that he would be called a coward, that he would be failing in his duty if he did not ride with the army and confront those traitors York, Warwick and Salisbury.

She rode round the camp accompanied by the King. The news must spread to Ludlow Castle that the King was with them. Every Yorkist soldier must know that he was fighting against his King.

Once again she sent messages addressed to all the captains in the enemy’s camp. ‘The King is here before Ludlow. If you fight against his army you fight against him. Pause to think what this means. You will be traitors to your King. Come over to us now and there will be free pardons for all.’

It was clever.

Margaret was almost wild with joy when Captain Trollope, leading a company of Warwick’s best troops from Calais, joined the Lancastrian army.

Trollope declared: I will never take up arms against my King.’

Margaret welcomed him warmly. He should have a command in her armies. She was certain now of victory.

There was gloom in Ludlow Castle. Defeat was staring them in the face. Even Warwick admitted it.

T would have staked my life on Trollope,’ he said. ‘And it is not only him. He has taken some of my best men with him. They are not fighting for Margaret, not for the Lancastrians. It is simply that they will not fight against the King. They are good men all of them. If the King had not been there...’

‘But he is there,’ said Salisbury, ‘and what are we to do? We have a handful of men against a trained army. We will be overcome in an hour.’

Warwick nodded. ‘Trollope knows our plans and our strength. It will be folly for us to stay here and be annihilated or worse still taken captive. There is one course open to us, as far as I can see. And that is flight, if we want to five to fight another day. We have been the victims of desertion. We were undermanned before. The Queen has reacted too quickly for us. I think the answer can only be flight. As soon as night falls we should leave without delay.’

York was thoughtful. He was thinking of his family. Salisbury understood.

‘There is no other way, I fear,’ he said. ‘You will have to leave Cecily here with the younger children.’

‘To leave them...!’

‘If you want to live, yes,’ said Warwick. He was thinking York had not the makings of a great leader. He was thinking of his wife and young children when he should have been thinking of survival to Live and fight another day.

‘March and Rutland can come with us,’ said Salisbury.

‘There is no time to be lost,’ added Warwick. ‘As soon as night falls we must slip away.’

York saw at once that Warwick was right and it was easy to explain to Cecily because she too grasped the position.

‘Warwick is wise,’ she said. ‘You must go...you, Edward and Edmund. The little ones will be safe with me. I am sure Henry won’t let us be harmed.’

‘I wouldn’t trust Margaret.’

‘Oh, she won’t have time to think of me. God go with you.’

‘I shall keep you informed and we shall be back.’

‘Indeed you’ll be back, and when you do you’ll be victorious, I’m sure of that.’

Cecily was a strong woman; she would be able to care for herself and the children he was leaving behind.

Darkness was falling. There was not a moment to lose. He summoned his captains and told them that they could not possibly stand out against the mighty Lancastrian army which was gathered to confront them. The soldiers must get away and disperse. They would be in no danger. It was the leaders they were after.

York, Warwick and Salisbury with the young Earls of March and Rutland quietly made their way out of Ludlow. Through the night they rode heading towards Wales. There they decided to break up the party and as York still had connections in Ireland he would go there and stay until he could make plans for his return. He would take Rutland with him.

The others would go back to Calais. Edward was very eager to stay with Warwick. So he with Salisbury and Warwick made his way to the Devon coast where they hoped to find a ship to carry them across the Channel. It would have been too dangerous to attempt to sail from Sandwich or any of the ports in the south-east, for their enemies would surely be lying in wait for them guessing that Warwick would try to make his way back to Calais.

Edward enjoyed the adventure. His attachment to Warwick grew with every hour. Warwick was a hero. He was so resourceful, so strong, all that Edward himself would like to be.

There were some alarming moments during the journey. Warwick was certain that Margaret would have sent out warnings to all her friends in the country that they might keep a watchful eye for the fugitives. And if ever she had York, Warwick or Salisbury in her hands she would lose no time in getting rid of them. It would be certain death.

Warwick was watchful. On one or two occasions he was sure they came near to capture but in due course they came to Dynham Manor which was owned by John Dynham, a trusted Yorkist.

It was a great relief to sleep in a bed; to sit at a table and eat good food and to feel comparatively safe, but they could not Unger, of course. They were close to the sea and the sooner they left England the better for them. It was a long journey across the water but they would be safer there than they were staying here where they might be discovered at any time. Guernsey belonged to Warwick, as a fief of the Crown, so he could make for Guernsey first and from there could find out what was happening in Calais and whether it would be safe to return there.

John Dynham was an ardent Yorkist. He would do everything he could to speed them on their way. At great risk he procured a boat with a party of fishermen to sail it to Guernsey. Meanwhile his wife kept them hidden.

In due course they sailed for Guernsey but they had not gone far when a storm arose. The fishermen were terrified.

Warwick shouted at them to stop their trembling and look to their tasks. ‘Take the ship to Guernsey,’ he cried. ‘That is your duty.’

‘Master,’ said their spokesman, ‘we be but poor fishermen. We know little of boats such as this. We’ve never been near Guernsey in our lives.’

Warwick looked at the consternation of those about him and cried out: ‘By God, I have not come so far to be lost at sea.’

Whereupon he seized the tiller and set the course westward.

He took the boat through the storm and they reached Guernsey in safety.

Edward watching thought: Warwick is a hero. I am going to be exactly like him.

In Guernsey they learned that Calais had remained loyal to Warwick and they immediately set sail. When they arrived

Warwick was welcomed with acclaim. The people were with him to a man; but he sensed their uneasiness.

He explained this to Edward. He had taken to Edward. He was certain that here could be a future King. If York was not quite fit for the throne, this son of his would be. Warwick meant to create him in his own image. He was going to make a king of him—which Warwick intended to be himself—in all but name. There was that in his character which made him prefer the role of manipulator. Providing the puppets went his way, that was the role to have. Moreover he could hardly lay claim to the throne himself, and it was essential for a man to have that claim.

York had it. So had young Edward.

Warwick was supreme. Edward saw that clearly. Here he was after fleeing from his enemies, nothing left to him but this governorship of Calais which undoubtedly would be taken from him in a matter of weeks, yet he was jaunty and still sure of himself. There was something indestructible about him.

Edward wanted to be just like that.

Warwick admitted that they had suffered a defeat. War was like that. Up one day, down the next. It was the final battle that counted. And that was to come. They would now begin planning their return and Edward should see how it was done. He would learn what tactics to follow. How to play on men’s emotions.

Warwick certainly knew how to do that. He only had to appear to be cheered and idolized. Edward listened to him talking to his men.

‘Yes, we have lost this battle. Temporarily we are on the run. But look you, my friends, we have this port of Calais. It is the most important port in Europe. They will try to take it away from me, but are we going to allow that? Indeed we are not.’

The burghers of Calais pledged themselves to Warwick. They lent him the money he needed for his army. They put their faith in him, rather than a weak government from England headed by the Queen.

As he had expected the Queen immediately appointed the Duke of Somerset as Captain of Calais.

‘He may come here,’ said Warwick, ‘but he will not land in Calais, I promise you that.’

Edward watched with growing excitement. He could scarcely tear himself from Warwick’s side.

When Somerset’s fleet appeared before Calais Warwick gave

the order to let off the cannonade. Somerset, furious, could not return to England but he knew that it would be folly to attempt to land. He therefore turned aside and landed some way down the coast at Guisnes where he bribed the custodian of the castle and his men to allow him to take possession.

He had brought a considerable company of men with him, but the ships in which they sailed were manned by sailors of Kent. The men of Kent had always greatly admired Warwick. He was their hero. They declared that the winds were blowing their ships off course. The same winds blew them into Calais harbour.

How Edward laughed when they arrived. Warwick went to greet them, his armour shining, looking like the hero of Legend.

There was feasting for these men but the soldiers they brought with them had a different reception. Many of these had at one time been Warwick’s adherents under the command of Trollope and had deserted to the Lancastrians at Ludlow.

They were despatched to dungeons.

‘Always show strength,’ he told Edward. ‘These men have deserted. The rest of them are honest King’s men.’

Edward listened avidly as he addressed them.

He gave the honest King’s men free choice. He would welcome them to his service but only if they wished to come. They could speak honestly. They need have no fear of that. Honesty was a quality he respected. It was only traitors who would suffer under his hands.

Many were bemused by him. It was the effect Warwick had on men, Edward was realizing more every day.

The ranks of his troops were considerably increased.

Even so, many of the soldiers declared they were the King’s servants and wished to serve only under him.

‘Very good,’ said Warwick. ‘You are loyal soldiers. You shall be sent back to England.’

He was just; he was a shining example. Edward was not the only one who thought he resembled a god.

After he had commanded that those who had deserted him should be executed, he sent a sly message to the Duke of Somerset fretting at Guisnes.

‘I must thank you, my lord, for your very excellent stores. I have found them of the utmost use in my cause.’

No, one defeat could not be the end of a man like Warwick.

The red rose had but temporarily triumphed over the white.

Warwick was looking ahead. Life was an exciting game and the best of all was making Kings. He had lost his confidence in the Duke of York, but not in York’s eldest son. Edward Earl of March had the makings of a King. Those masculine blond looks of his were pure Plantagenet. The boy was springing up. He was now all of six feet four inches. In an assembly he towered above the rest. The eyes of women followed him. Instil wisdom into that handsome head and he would have a King indeed.

He took the young March into his confidence. He explained his actions when it was wise to do so. He did not tell him that he was supplanting his father in Warwick’s mind. That he had decided to mould a different model; to attach his strings to a new puppet.

Edward was scarcely puppet material. A strong man he would be, with a will of his own—and all the better for that. Warwick wanted to set his mind working in the right direction.

There was promise in the air. Every little circumstance must be made use of; and if the debacle at Ludlow had helped him to know a little more of the Duke of York and incline him slightly away from him, so much the better.

He would not so much support York as the reform of Parliament. One thing was certain, Henry needed guidance; the Queen’s rule—and that was really what the country was getting—was disastrous. Margaret would never understand the English people, she had no notion that if she was going to rule she must have their consent to do so. She must have their respect and approval. They might be subjects but they were of a nature to choose their ruler. If they did not like the one providence had given them, they would change him. They had done so before and they would do so again.

And if the Duke of York did not quite fit into Warwick’s conception of what a King should be, the Earl of March—with Warwick behind him—did.

As Warwick pointed out to Edward, timing was important. It was the most important thing of all. One week could mean success, a week later defeat. They had been routed; they had fled to Calais, but look how fortune was beginning to smile on them.

Their adherents were increasing every day. The great Duke of Burgundy was smiling on them. He did not mind that there were raids on the French King’s ships. As long as Warwick did no harm to Burgundy he could do what he liked to France. Burgundy saw in Warwick a kindred spirit. He was amused by the manner in which the Earl, by holding the port of Calais, was dominating the seas.

‘We must strike soon,’ Warwick told Edward. ‘The moment is becoming ripe. We should not delay too long for as I told you everything can change between one sunrise and sunset. You see, we have news from Kent as to how Somerset is fitting out ships in Sandwich to come against us, for I have my friends in Kent who keep me informed of every move. If we went to Sandwich we could take the town easily. My friends of Kent would rally to the banner of the Ragged Staff.’

It was amusing and added to Warwick’s prestige when one January night news came that Somerset was ready to sail. Warwick lost no time. He sent out a fleet of his own led by Sir John Wenlock and John Dynham to take them by surprise. This they did, capturing all the ships which were in port and at the same time landing in the town and arresting Lord Rivers and Sir Anthony Woodville in their beds. What was so gratifying was that the townsfolk rallied to help Warwick—which, said he, was the best sign of all.

When they arrived in Calais, Lord Rivers and Anthony Woodville were imprisoned.

‘It is only necessary to execute men who can be dangerous to you,’ he explained to Edward. ‘To kill these two would bring us nothing but the animosity of their families. They are too weak to harm us. It is well to let them live. And if they escape to serve the Queen again, that matters little. They do more harm than good to her cause.’

There was perpetual activity at Calais. By night the ships brought stores and ammunition into the harbour from England. Warwick heard with delight that the men of Kent were waiting to flock to his banner when he came. The government in England was proving itself to be incompetent; the Queen was imposing her will on her chosen ministers and she did not understand the English and every day she earned their dislike a little more.

‘The time has come,’ said Warwick, ‘to consult with your father. We must go to Ireland. There are matters to be discussed which cannot be done by messengers.’

‘The English fleet will never let us get there,’ said Edward.

‘That is not the way I expect to hear you talk, my lord. We are going to get there despite any fleet that any country could put on the sea.’

Edward said that of course they would. He just thought that

Exeter and Somerset would put everything they had into stopping them.

They set out for Ireland and reached that country without mishap. The Duke had established himself in Ireland. He was a born administrator and just as the English had profited from his rule, so had the Irish. They recognized this and showed their appreciation by allowing him to rule in peace.

But the Duke’s heart was in England. He wanted news of Cecily and the younger children. He said he and Rutland were eager to go home, and he was delighted to see Edward growing into such a fine specimen of manhood and was sure he could have no better tutor than Warwick.

For eight weeks, they discussed the situation; they made plans, exchanged ideas and decided on their strategy. Warwick then thought that it was time he returned to Calais where he would make his final preparations.

Edward took a fond farewell of his father and prepared to leave with Warwick.

‘It won’t be long now,’ said the Duke. ‘We shall all be together soon.’

Edward glowed with the anticipation of seeing his father King of England. How proud his mother would be. She could play the Queen in earnest then. He would be the heir to the throne and that was a dazzling prospect. Rutland and young George and Richard would be princes. They would be greatly excited by that.

In the meantime the kingdom had to be won. They had to drive that virago of Anjou back to her native country. They had to make poor old Henry see that he was unfit to wear the crown.

It was Edward who first sighted Exeter’s fleet off the coast of Devon. There would be a mighty battle now and Warwick was not equipped for a fight, but there was no help for it.

‘This day,’ cried Warwick, ‘we shall show our true mettle. Here we are a small force and before us lies the might of Exeter’s fleet. We’ll not flinch. We fight for the right and always remember that I have not been beaten yet and one of us is worth ten of them. That makes the numbers right. But we have valour and ingenuity which is unknown to them. Come, my lads, serve me well and I promise you victory.’

It was like a miracle. Exeter was turning away. He was not going to fight. Warwick laughed aloud. He guessed what had happened.

The seamen doubtless came from Kent or the south-east.

Warwick was their idol. They would refuse to fight against him. Not only from affection and admiration but because they believed he had some divine quality and to fight against that was like pitting mortal strength against the gods.

Laughing with glee Warwick came safely into Calais.

During the feverish preparations at Calais Francesco dei Coppini arrived in the town.

He was an Italian Bishop who had been ostensibly sent to England on command of the new Pope Pius II but was in fact a secret agent for the Duke of Milan. His mission was said to be to raise money to fight the Turks. He had believed that as this would be a kind of crusade against the infidel it would find favour with the King of England.

However, discovering that one of his aims was political and in some measure aimed against France, Margaret would not receive him; moreover she prevented his seeing Henry.

Warwick, who knew what had happened, decided that since Coppini had been snubbed by Margaret it would be a good idea to cultivate him, to make much of him and thus give his own campaign a religious flavour, as though it had been approved by the Pope.

Warwick was a little impatient with the pious talk of his guest but he assured him that he had no intention of displacing Henry; all he wanted to do was reform the government, to dismiss those men who were ruining the country, and curb the activities of the Queen. When Coppini saw the fleet Warwick had amassed and listened to his eloquence he was sure that the expedition would be successful and as Margaret had not been friendly to him, he would give the enterprise his blessing and even sail with it. So he was there when, in the pelting summer rain, Warwick landed at Sandwich, where he was greeted like a king; within a short time he was marching on to Canterbury where he paused only to pay homage and ask the blessing at the tomb of St. Thomas à Becket.

Then he began to journey on to London.

Warwick never lost sight of the importance of the people. It was in this that he differed from Margaret. She considered their approval a trivial matter while to Warwick it was all important. London greeted him with warmth and his brother George, who was the Bishop of Exeter, came forward to embrace him and give him the blessing of the Church. So much had Warwick’s force swollen as he marched through England that it was now nearly forty thousand strong.

There must be a service at St. Paul’s, which all the leaders would attend, and at St. Paul’s Cross Warwick addressed the multitude.

‘We have been called traitors,’ he cried. ‘We are no traitors. We are the King’s liege men and we are come to declare our innocence to the King or die on the field. All of us here will swear on the cross of St. Thomas of Canterbury that we are doing nothing which could conflict with our allegiance to the King.’

The crowd roared its approval. ‘The King, the King.’ And then: ‘Down with the Queen.’

They understood. They would not be governed by a foreign woman. They wanted good government, such as York had shown he could administer, but under the King. They wanted an end to Margaret’s favourites.

Coppini spoke to the multitude. The King must not remain blind to his country’s needs. The Yorkists had right on their side. There must be sweet reason. The King must listen to the Duke of York and to the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury. They came with good sound sense. Those who stood with them would receive special pardons for their sins. Those who stood against them were defying God’s will.

Warwick saw that it had indeed been a wise move to ingratiate himself with Coppini. The people were religious and superstitious and Coppini, he gleefully told Edward, was as good as a thousand men.

Warwick sent another message to the King as he came near to Northampton. Coppini meanwhile went among the ranks stressing the fact that if they served the great Earl of Warwick they would be granted absolution of their sins. He was sorry for the Lancastrians. They faced excommunication.

The spirits of the men were high. They could serve their earthly hero Warwick and at the same time earn the good graces of Heaven.

Victory must be certain in such a case.

The King’s forces had been drawn up in the fields with their faces turned away from the River Nene; they were close to Delapré Abbey, busily occupying themselves digging trenches and getting the guns in their correct positions.

The King was restive. He hated war. He was glad though that Margaret was not here. She was not far away in Coventry with young Edward but at least she would be out of the battle. Margaret alarmed him; she would ride with the men like a general. Had she been here she would have been stalking through the camp, haranguing the soldiers, behaving in a way which did not exactly endear her to them. But she never understood that. She thought they were there because it was their duty to fight for their King. It was, but Henry had always understood that they needed to respect and admire that King before they could be asked to fight for him.

Warwick, now the seasoned warrior and constantly on the alert to seize the advantage, spread out his forces facing the enemy. Salisbury was in London. York had not yet arrived, so he appointed Edward to lead one wing and Thomas Fauconberg the other. He trusted Fauconberg entirely. He was connected by blood being the bastard of Warwick’s kinsman William Neville. Even at this stage Warwick sent messages into the enemy’s lines exhorting them to parley rather than fight. Let the King come forward to speak with Warwick. That was all he asked, but he was determined to speak with the King or die.

He was very much aware that if this battle ensued he would be fighting the King and he wanted no charges of treachery against him.

The battle was short. The rain began to pelt down and the King’s cannon was useless. Warwick’s instructions were always: ‘Attack the leaders and the lords, leave the commoners.’ It had proved wise on other occasions and it did now on this one. Buckingham, Egremont and Shrewsbury all lay dead on the field.

It was victory for Warwick.

The first action Warwick took when he knew that the battle was won was to seek out the King.

Henry was found sitting passively in his tent. He was not so concerned by the fact that he had lost the battle as that so much blood had been shed.

Warwick with March and the Bastard of Fauconberg went on to their knees and swore allegiance to him. They wanted to assure him that he was still their King.

‘It would not seem you regard me as such,’ said Henry mildly, ‘when you bring a force of arms against me.’

‘My lord,’ said Warwick, ‘not against you. Never against you.’

‘To be against my armies is to be against me.’

‘My lord, all we seek is justice. The people know that. Give us a chance to state our views to the Parliament.’

‘Every man should be permitted to state his view and so shall he in my kingdom if my will be done.’

Warwick was not displeased. Here was another puppet for the master to handle.

For three days he kept Henry at Northampton and then took him to London, treating him all the time with the respect which was due to his rank.

Through the streets of London they paraded, Warwick going before the King bareheaded and carrying the sword of state.

All was well, said the people. Warwick was in command as they all knew he must be and at the same time he was the King’s very good subject. It was a happy compromise.

The Queen had disappeared. Some said she had fled to Scotland. Good riddance was the general comment. Now the King, helped by Warwick and the Duke of York, could rule wisely.

Henry stayed at Eltham and then went to Greenwich. He spent his time waiting for the Parliament to be called in hunting for exercise, reading and listening to music. Secretly he was rather pleased that Margaret was not with him. He loved her of course, as a man should his wife; she was beautiful and eager for his welfare—he knew all that, but he wished she were a little less eager for it. He wished she would leave him alone to go his own way. It was pleasant enough when he had strong men to help him govern. He was rather fond of York who was after all a kinsman, and it was quite true that he was descended from both branches of the family and one of them was in fact nearer to the crown than Henry’s own.

Then York arrived in England and for the first time actually claimed the throne.

That caused something of a turmoil and many of the lords were indignant. But Henry could see the point of the argument. He had always been a King for as long as he could remember and could not imagine anything else, and oddly he would be loth to give up the crown, burdensome as it was. On the other hand it was true that York had a claim...

When it was suggested that he should continue to wear the crown throughout his lifetime and then let it go to York he agreed.

Margaret would have been furious. What of their son? she would have wanted to know.

Poor boy, he would be happier without a crown. Crowns were no guarantee of happiness. Rather they were the source of sorrow and heartbreak.

Yes, he would agree that York was to take the throne on his death. That was the solution which would put an end to these senseless sheddings of blood.

News came that Margaret who had fled to the North had gathered an army and was marching south.

The King shook his head in sorrow. York, taking Rutland with him, marched north to meet the Queen; and Warwick with Edward stayed on in London, intending to spend Christmas with Henry.