The Red Rose of Anjou

THE PAPER CROWN

When Margaret heard of the defeat at Northampton she ground her teeth with rage. If she could only get York in her power – and most of all Warwick – she would not hesitate to have their heads. That was what she longed for more than anything.

But there was much to be done; she must not waste her energies on fruitless fantasies of what she would do with her enemies. She had her boy to consider. Edward was seven years old. He had been constantly in her care and she would not let him escape from it. She was going to be sure that he did not grow up to be like his father.

There had been a time when she had asked Somerset if it would be possible to have Henry deposed and his son crowned King. Somerset had advised her not to mention such a matter to anyone else. It might be construed as treason.

Treason! When she made a reasonable suggestion that her poor ineffectual husband – who was capable of madness in any case – should stand aside for her young and beautiful son who would one day inherit the throne?

But she did recognize that fact that she ought to take care, so that matter had gone no farther.

She had said goodbye to Henry at Coventry and left him to join the army at Northampton while she went on to Eccleshill in Staffordshire. As soon as he had defeated the Yorkists she would join the King.

It was to Eccleshill that the messengers came.

Defeat. Debacle. A battle which was almost over before it had begun.

And what of her? Here she was not far off and she was the one they hated. She was the one they wanted to get into their power. She, the Queen...and her precious son the Prince of Wales.

‘There is no time to be lost,’ she said. ‘We must leave at once.’

She sent for Edward and told him.

‘But where shall we go, my dear lady?’ asked Edward.

‘We shall go to our true friends. I know there are some in this country we can trust. And if there are not enough of them, we shall go to our country’s enemies. They will assist us for their own sake.’

Edward looked bewildered. Poor child, he was too young to understand what a world he had been born into. But he was a Prince, the heir to the throne and Margaret was going to fight with all the strength of which she was capable to make sure that he was not cheated out of that.

Summoning her servants she prepared to leave at once and they were soon on the road to Malpas. Margaret failed completely to understand the effect her arrogance had on her followers. Interested as she was in her women’s love affairs and having a genuine concern for their welfare, she could never forget that she was the Queen; and she would be amazed if they did not immediately fall in with her wishes. There had been two main influences in her youth and they were the domination of her mother and grandmother and the feckless poverty of her father. She had seen the power of feminine rule. She was determined to emulate her grandmother and mother and equally determined to cling to the high position she had acquired; if she could prevent it, she was never going to live as she had in her childhood with poverty and the fear that everything the family had would be lost to them.

Now that the King had suffered a major defeat and was in the hands of his enemies who would assuredly bend him to their will, her servants asked themselves why they should have to be treated as being so inferior by a woman who first of all could well find her power cut off and secondly was a foreigner who did not understand English ways.

So on the flight from Eccleshill there was a certain amount of murmuring of which Margaret was oblivious—but if she had been aware of it would have taken little heed.

They had come to a wood and as she entered it Margaret felt a shudder of apprehension. It was merely because it was late afternoon, the wood seemed so quiet and the trees made it dark.

She looked with concern at the saddle horses which carried her precious belongings, the jewels which represented so much money, the fine garments which she loved. They were a small band and a lonely one.

She had just turned to give an order to hurry when out of the woods came a band of men. She recognized the livery of one of the nobles and with sinking heart she believed that these were Lord Stanley’s men and he was a firm Yorkist supporter.

The men stood a little distance from her.

Margaret, fearless as ever, rode ahead of the company.

‘Good day to you,’ she said. ‘You are not attempting to impede our progress, I hope.’

The arrogant tone betrayed her.

‘You are the Queen,’ said the leader of the men.

‘You appear to have forgotten that,’ she answered coolly.

‘Nay, we were expecting you to come this way. We had news of your arrival.’

‘You have come to join me?’

The men laughed.

‘Go to it,’ shouted their leader.

‘Ay, John Cleger, we will!’ shouted the others.

To Margaret’s horror she saw that they were making for the saddle horses and some of them had begun to unstrap the baggage.

‘Stop them!’ she cried. ‘Why are you standing there, you oafs?’

It was a fearsome moment for her own men were standing by not attempting to stop the robbers. Then she saw a few of them go over to the saddle horses.

‘Do your duty,’ she cried. ‘Kill these robbers.’

One of the robbers came over to her and the Prince who was beside her.

‘We want the horses,’ he said. ‘Better dismount, lady. You and the boy.’

‘How dare you talk to your Queen in such a way!’

‘I reckon you’re not that now, lady, or if you are it won’t be for much longer. Get down, boy.’

Edward watching his mother, remembering her instructions that he must be brave, sat his horse looking straight ahead of him.

The robber seized him and dragged him to the ground.

Margaret cried out, and leaping out of the saddle went immediately to her son.

‘It’s all right, lady. I wanted your horses, that’s all. As fine a pair as I ever saw.’

This was nightmare. She gripped her son’s shoulder and held him close to her. The robbers and her own servants were quarrelling over the contents of the saddle bags.

Her jewels! Her beautiful clothes! All lost!

One of them turned and looked in her direction. She did not Like what she saw. What would they do when they had everything she had? She knew. Instinct told her. She had identified them as Stanley’s men. Her own had deserted her for the sake of getting a share in the booty. Every one of them should die the traitor’s death if they were ever brought to justice and they knew it.

They would prevent that at all costs and there was one way of doing it.

She knew that these men would have no compunction in killing her and the Prince.

She drew her son closer to her. It was characteristic of Margaret that she should think of his safety before her own. In her turbulent heart this boy had first place. He was her beloved son for whom she had waited so long; she would fight for him with every spark of strength she possessed. She would die for him if need be. She was fond of the King but she despised him. She wanted to care for him and govern him. It was possible that she wanted to govern this boy too. But she wanted him to grow up strong, not like his father. And now he was in acute danger. She knew that neither of them would be allowed to leave this scene alive if those wicked men could help it.

Keeping her eyes on them she withdrew a little into the trees. She must not go too openly. She must tread cautiously. If she could get one of the horses...but that was impossible, they would see her mounting.

Edward was looking at her with eyes that were full of hope. She was there. The mother who seemed to him invincible. He knew they were in danger but he believed that no one could ever stand up for long against his mother.

The men were still wrangling over the jewels. How long would it last? The moment of doom was getting nearer and nearer.

‘Lady...’ It was a soft voice in the trees.

She was alert. A young boy looked at her from behind the trunk of a tree.

‘I have a horse here. I know a way through the woods...a special way. I could take you and the Prince...’

Who was this boy? She did not know. In any case he looked very young and could not do her the harm these men could.

‘How...’ she began.

‘Let the Prince come first,’ he said.

‘Edward,’ she whispered. ‘Go!’

She could stand there watching the robbers while Edward might well slip into the trees unseen. He went, accustomed to obeying his mother without question.

Her heart was beating wildly. She kept her eyes on the men. They were not watching her. They thought it would be quite impossible for her to leave without a horse and if she attempted to mount and her son with her they would immediately be aware of it.

‘Now, lady...’

She was in the trees. Edward was already mounted. Hastily the boy helped her to get up beside him. Then he was up and they were off.

They had gone a little way through the trees when she heard the shout.

She clung to the boy and Edward clung to her; her lips were moving in prayer.

The boy was right. He knew the woods far better than the robbers or her own servants could. In any case those men would rather lose the Queen and the Prince than the contents of the saddle bags.

So they rode on, all through the rest of the day and the night.

The boy told her that he was fourteen years old, and had always wanted to serve the King and the Queen. His name was John Combe and he lived in Amesbury. He had been riding through the woods when he saw the robbers and realized what was happening.

His eyes shone with devotion and loyalty. ‘It was my chance, my lady, to do you good service. I thank God for it.’

‘You are a good boy and you shall not be forgotten for what you have done this day.’

Nor should he be. Margaret was as fierce in her devotion to her friends as she was in her hatred of her enemies.

‘There are many who lurk in the woods to rob, my lady,’ he told her. ‘I am ever watchful when I am there. But I have my

secret ways through. It is easy to be lost there. The trees are like a maze.’

‘I thank God that you came when you did. You have saved the life of your Queen and your future King.’

The boy was clearly quite moved, so was Margaret and all through that arduous journey she marvelled at the fortuitous appearance of John Combe. She had told him that she wanted to go to Wales.

‘That is a journey through mountainous country, my lady.’

‘Nevertheless I have loyal friends there, and that is where I must go.’

John Combe then turned the horse westward and they rode on.

It was easier when he was able to acquire two more horses and they could dispense with the need to ride all three on one.

Even so the journey was long and had it not been for the ingenuity of the boy they would have been lost.

What joy it was when they came in sight of Harlech Castle.

Margaret was very happy with her reception. Warmly she told of John Combe’s courage and skill in bringing her and the Prince out of an acutely dangerous situation. It was not long before she was joined by Owen Tudor.

She had been right to come here. There was strength in these Tudors. It was a great tragedy that Edmund had died but Jasper soon joined them and he gave a good account of how young Henry was living in Pembroke Castle with his mother.

‘A bright child, my lady,’ he told her. ‘A Tudor every inch of him and a touch of his royal grandmother without a doubt.’

Margaret had only a little patience to spare for young Henry Tudor. She wanted to know what help she could get here in Wales.

They understood at once.

Owen said: ‘Jasper has a great fondness for his nephew, my lady. You would think the boy was his own son.’ And then he went on to discuss what troops they could muster and what would be the best plan for taking an army into England.

‘The victory was Warwick’s, I’ll trow,’ said Owen. ‘Warwick is the one whom we have to battle with. York is a good administrator but I believe he lacks that which a leader needs.’

They were a little outspoken, these Tudors. No one could lack that quality more than the present King. Ah, but the King had a Queen.

It was to the Queen that the Lancastrians would have to look in the future.

She was desperate. She needed help. Henry had deserted her, his wife, and what was worse their son, so she believed. He had promised the throne to York when he died. There could not be a worse betrayal.

Everything depended on her. The King of France had always been fond of her. Some might have thought he was attached to her because of the good she could bring to France, but Margaret was guileless in such matters. Most of her difficulties throughout her life had come from her habit of judging everyone by herself and believing they would act in such a way because she would.

Now her fierce energies were concentrated on her son, and she would use any method to regain the promise of a crown which Henry had so wantonly thrown away to their enemies.

Why should not the King of France help her? That he would for a consideration she was sure. With help from France she could defeat Warwick, York, Salisbury, the whole lot of them. But Charles of France would want a very big prize to supply the sort of help she needed. What was the biggest plum she could offer?

Even as the idea had struck her she turned away from it. It would be a little too daring. But suppose she said to Charles: ‘Help me to defeat Warwick and make the crown of England safe for Edward and I will give you Calais.’

Calais! That port so dear to the heart of Warwick and the English people! That centre of trade right on the edge of the continent of Europe! Calais was of the utmost importance to the prosperity of England. Wool, leather, tin and lead were all sent to Calais to be sold into Burgundy. In Calais these goods were taxed and sorted. For trade and for defence Calais was essential to England. The French could not attack it without first coming through Burgundy to do so and as the King of France was on uneasy terms with the Duke of Burgundy, Calais was comparatively safe. Warwick as Captain of Calais had shown its worth. Calais had made it possible for him to increase his power. It seemed likely that Charles of France would do a great deal for Calais.

And yet without help how could she defeat her enemies? How could she make the crown safe for her son?

Calais. She dreamed of it.

She sent a messenger with a tentative suggestion to her old friend and supporter Pierre de Brézé.

While she was in Wales the Duke of Exeter arrived. He had fled from the battlefield, lucky to be alive. But he was determined to fight on and he believed that he could rally men to his banner in the North of England.

‘It is help we need,’ said Margaret. ‘We want to overwhelm them with our strength. If my good uncle the King of France would only come to my aid...’

She thought of the message she had sent to Brézé. She eagerly awaited the response and every morning when she awoke it was with the word Calais on her lips. Sometimes she was appalled by what she had done; and yet she knew that if she had the chance to go back she would do it again.

With the Tudors raising an army in Wales and Exeter going to the North, the scene was hopeful. But what she must do was outnumber Warwick and York; she must meet strength with greater strength; she must let the men know that if certain people in England were determined to destroy her, she had friends in other places.

They would hate to lose Calais; but better that than that young Edward, Prince of Wales, should lose his throne.

She decided that she would go to Scotland and seek help there. A ship was found for her and on a cold December day she set sail from Wales with her son.

The weather was even more bleak when she arrived in Edinburgh, but the warm welcome of the Queen Dowager, Mary of Gueldres, gave Margaret new hope. The late King’s sister had been the Dauphiness of France and Margaret had known her in the past. She felt therefore that she was going among friends.

If she could prevail upon Mary of Gueldres to give her help that, with whatever the King of France would send her, would enable her to swell her armies to such an extent that the Yorkists would soon be fleeing before them.

Mary of Gueldres it was true had her own problems at this time. Her husband, James the Second, had been killed in battle, for he had taken advantage of the defeat of Northampton to attack the old enemy; and now Mary was acting as regent for her nine-year-old son. However, she showed sympathy for

Margaret’s troubles and, needing Margaret’s help almost as much as Margaret needed hers, it seemed likely that they might strike a bargain.

A reply had come from Pierre de Brézé. He could not believe he had read her hints correctly. Did she really mean that in exchange for help from France she would give up Calais? Did she realize what this would mean to her cause? The English would never forgive her. If she did this she would see what their actions would be when they heard it. Oh yes, the King of France would be delighted; there was nothing she could offer him more to his taste, but Pierre was her good friend and he wanted her to think very earnestly of this matter before she committed herself to an act which would set the English crying for her blood.

She was half relieved, half angry.

I will do it, she thought. Brézé is too weak.

But that was unfair. He had shown himself a good friend to her. Their relationship had been an almost tender one. He admired her strength and her beauty and in a way was in love with her. His thoughts were for what would benefit her most.

For the time being she would shelve the matter and turn her attention to Mary of Gueldres.

Mary was sorry for her. She wanted to be of help; but naturally she must not be foolish, when her own position was so precarious. It was always dangerous when a King died leaving a young heir—a minor who must be surrounded by those who wished to govern for him.

In Lincluden Abbey where Mary had given Margaret apartments, the two women talked and bargained together— Margaret with a kind of feverish intensity, Mary more coldly, calculating each step before she made it, in contrast to Margaret’s impetuosity.

There was a fellow feeling between them. Both had young sons to protect. Mary was without a husband it was true but Margaret felt that hers could sometimes be an encumbrance rather than an asset.

‘It is only temporary help I need,’ Margaret explained fervently. ‘Once I have regained what is mine everything shall be repaid.’

‘I know it,’ replied Mary, ‘but conflicts go on for years before they are resolved and I have difficulties here. We have very unruly nobles in Scotland.’

‘They could not be more so than those of England. I often wish I could get rid of them all.’

‘Ah, we have to take care that they do not get rid of us.’

‘You and I should make a bargain. We should help each other. My dear cousin, give me men, give me arms and let our children marry. Let that be the bond between us. Your little Mary could be my Edward’s bride.’

It was tempting. The daughter of a Scottish king was not as desirable a parti as some might be. Her father was dead, her mother was struggling to keep the throne safe for her son—and if Margaret succeeded in defeating the rebels Edward would one day be King and little Mary of Scotland Queen of England.

It was a golden prospect if only the war could be won, if Edward was not to be ousted from the throne; but it seemed very likely that he would be, since after Northampton, Richard of York had been declared heir to the throne on the death of Henry.

Mary of Gueldres hesitated.

She knew how desperate Margaret was. She knew that she would do almost anything for help. She would consider nothing too high a price to be paid for what she wanted.

Mary of Gueldres said: ‘For myself I would agree willingly to this marriage, but it is those about me...I fear before they would be willing to help they would want something more...’

‘What?’ cried Margaret. ‘Tell me what?’

‘Berwick,’ said Mary quietly.

Berwick! That border town which was so important to the English.

Well, she had been ready to give Calais. Why hesitate at Berwick?

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Berwick shall be yours...in exchange for an army which will help me destroy these rebels.’

Cecily Duchess of York had arrived in London in great style with three of her children—her daughter Margaret and her two youngest sons George and Richard.

They must all behave with the utmost dignity, she had told them. Their behaviour was of the utmost importance because they had become Princes. They had always been of the highest in the land—but then so had others; now they had stepped up with their father who when the King died would be King in his place. As for their brother Edward—anyone must realize just by looking at him that he was surely born for a crown.

Edward was the children’s god. He was always so dazzling to look at and stories of his adventures reached them; he was a great soldier, a great adventurer and he never seemed out of temper. He would be King one day, their mother told them, but not yet praise God because their noble father came first.

The Duke was coming from Ireland to join them and when he arrived it would be a great day of rejoicing for everybody. Cecily decided that it would be fitting for her to go to meet him and therefore the children would be left behind in the mansion in Southwark where they had been living since they came to London.

‘Your brother Edward will come often to see you,’ she told them. ‘But you must not expect too much attention from him. He has great affairs with which to concern himself and he will spend much time with the great Earl of Warwick. If the Earl should come here, make sure you treat him with the correct respect. Edward will notice if you don’t.’

They did not believe their big handsome brother would trouble very much about that. Life was exciting. And when their father came to London he would go to Parliament and after that nobody would be able to say they were not Princes.

The days passed. The children went riding through the city but they were too young to notice the tension in the streets. Northampton might have been a resounding victory but there were many lords who supported the red rose of Lancaster and when a King was in conflict with certain members of the nobility and when new rulers were going to replace old there was always acute danger. It was true that Henry was not fit to govern; it was true that many hated the Queen; but there was a young Prince at present with his mother and to accept the Duke of York in his place did not please everybody.

That the Duke and Duchess of York already regarded themselves as the rulers was obvious. When the Duchess had left London on her way to meet her husband she had travelled in a chariot decorated with blue velvet and drawn by four pairs of the finest horses. Margaret of Anjou had never travelled more royally. The Duke was a more able administrator than Henry, that was true; but it seemed that Proud Cis would be every bit as overbearing as Margaret.

In due course York came riding into London. With Cecily in her velvet-covered chariot it was a very grand procession, but there was a notable lack of enthusiasm among the people.

The Duke cared nothing for that. He lost no time in presenting himself to the Parliament and on his way there had one of his men ride ahead of him carrying a sword—a custom which implied that he was already the King.

The people watched in silence and later, when presenting himself in Parliament, he insisted on the lords listening to an account of his pedigree which showed that he had more right to the throne than Henry. Henry’s grandfather had usurped the throne, he declared. Others had come before him. Therefore he, York, was the rightful King.

There was great consternation throughout the House and the lords were uncertain how to act. They accepted the pedigree, on the other hand Henry was their crowned King. At length one of them suggested that as the matter was so complicated it should be put before judges. It was a matter of law and for them to decide.

When York returned to Southwark it was to find Warwick there with Edward.

They immediately retired to an apartment where the three of them might talk in earnest.

It was clear that Warwick did not approve of York’s action in going to the Parliament. ‘The time is not ripe,’ said Warwick; and he was regretting that York stood before his son. How much easier it would be to handle Edward!

‘We have delayed long enough,’ said York. ‘It is time we let the people see what we stand for. We want Henry deposed and we have to let Margaret know that she has not a chance.’

‘It’s true,’ said Warwick, ‘but we should tread with more care. There is hostile feeling all around us, and it will need little to turn that into active support for Henry.’

‘Henry is hopeless and all know it.’

‘He still retains their affection. Well, we have gone so far, we must see what the judges make of it.’

The judges very quickly let them know. ‘This matter is too difficult for us to decide,’ was their verdict. ‘It is above our knowledge of the law and learning.’

It was fortunate that Warwick’s brother, George Neville, had been made Chancellor. He declared that it was clear that the King’s health prevented him from ruling. Let the decision remain to let him wear the crown until he died and then let it go to York.

There were some who thought this would shorten Henry’s life because there would most certainly be those who would want to be rid of him.

George Neville then said that if Henry died mysteriously they would not rest until they had found his murderer and no matter how high in the land that person was he should suffer the traitor’s death. Moreover, the Duke of York was considerably older than Henry. It seemed very likely that Henry would live longer.

So it was stated that York was officially to be declared heir to the throne.

When Henry was approached he buried his head in his hands. ‘I only ask to be left in peace,’ he said.

‘The Duke of York and his heirs will have the throne after you.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said the King wearily.

They were amazed. Had he forgotten the boy of whom he and Margaret had been so proud?

‘I want peace,’ cried Henry. ‘My country wants peace. Forsooth and forsooth, let us have peace and pay the price for it if we must.’

So York was declared heir to the throne. But there was no rejoicing in the streets.

Warwick shook his head apprehensively. ‘It was wrong. The people don’t like it. One always needs the people with one particularly in a situation like this which could be unpopular. No, you should not have done this. You should have waited until by very force of arms we could have deposed Henry and set you up.’

‘I agree with that,’ said Edward.

York looked sadly at his eldest son. Edward seemed to be all Warwick’s now. Rutland was his dear faithful son. Rutland would never question any moves he made.

Even as they talked together messengers were arriving. Margaret was gathering forces. She had the Tudors building up an army in Wales. Exeter was doing the same in the North as she herself was in Scotland.

‘No time for complacency,’ said Warwick. ‘Edward and I will remain in London to keep watch over the King and build up an army. You should go to York and muster as many men as you can. We may have to fight. It is hardly likely that Margaret will quietly accept this.’

The Duke of York agreed and left London for Yorkshire where he would amass an army to fight with him and retain his new title.

Christmas would soon come. Through the cold winds of winter York marched with his men. He would do little until the spring; it was never wise to make battle in the depths of winter.

He did not believe Henry would live long. There might be some who would make it their duty to see that he did not. And then...the crown would be his. Edward would be a worthy heir for all that he had become Warwick’s man rather than his father’s. Never mind. They were all on the same side and Edward was a son to be proud of.

They had come to the town of Worksop and as they were marching out of the town they were unaware of the ambush and Somerset’s troops were upon them before they could make ready to return the attack.

The fighting was fierce and the losses on both sides great.

They must get to York, thought the Duke. They must get to the castle of Sandal at least. That was within a mile or so of Wakefield.

He rallied his forces and cried out to them that they must leave the field and make with all speed for Sandal.

He was relieved when the grey stone castle rose up before him, a mighty fortress on the left bank of the River Calder.

He glanced at his son Rutland who was riding beside him. His favourite of late, one who had adhered to his father and resisted the wiles of the hero Warwick. Foolish to feel that envy but under Warwick’s influence Edward had changed towards him. They had been critical of him in London; they had made him feel that he was no longer the leader. Warwick was like that. Whenever he was present, one felt that though he might not be in command in the flesh he was in spirit.

‘We will show them, my son,’ he said to Rutland.

‘We will. Father,’ replied the boy.

They had not realized the size of the army which was approaching. Exeter with Clifford had done well in raising such an army for Margaret.

Salisbury who had accompanied them said that they were safe in the castle. He had sent messengers to Warwick and Edward to let them know how things stood. They need not worry. They could hold out until Warwick or Edward came to relieve them.

The Duke was frustrated. To be besieged in a castle waiting for Warwick and his son, it was too much to be borne. They criticized him enough already.

It was all very well to wait. He could imagine the day Warwick arrived, scattering the enemy, proudly riding into the city; and there would be Edward beside him, admiring, hanging on his words, pitying his father because he had had the ill luck—mismanagement they might say—to get himself besieged in Sandal Castle.

‘I shall not wait for relief,’ said York. T shall go out among them. I shall reduce their ranks. I will cripple this army so that it cannot come against me again.’

‘Is this wise?’ asked Salisbury. ‘We are outnumbered.’

‘We are not outclassed,’ said the Duke. ‘I can fight battles without Warwick and my eldest son.’

‘ ‘Tis so,’ agreed Salisbury. ‘But their help would be useful.’

‘Where are the enemy now?’

‘Encamped at Wakefield.’

‘A mile or so away. Then we will prepare to attack.’

Thus was fought the battle of Wakefield. It was folly from the start to have attempted it. The Yorkists were completely outnumbered. Many were slain on that field including the Duke of York and his son Rutland.

It was with great exultation that the Lancastrians discovered the dead body of the Duke. They cut off his head and sent it to York to be stuck on the walls of the city and someone had placed a paper crown on his head.

Salisbury was captured but they would not allow him to live. He was too dangerous. His head was displayed on the walls of York beside that of his friend and ally.

It was defeat. York was dead. When Margaret heard the news she was almost wild with joy.

‘The tide has turned,’ she cried. ‘This is our greatest victory. We are going to win back what is ours and the fate of every traitor in England shall be as that of the Duke of York.’