The Red Rose of Anjou

THE QUARREL

At this time Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick was at the height of his powers. None could deny – perhaps not even Edward the King himself – that Warwick was the most important man in the kingdom. He was indeed the King-Maker. Edward could never have attained the crown but for Warwick; and had Warwick decided to throw in his lot with Henry, Henry would be on the throne at this time.

Life had been good to him, he conceded. Not in bringing him into the world with a fortune in his grasp; that had not been so. True he was the son of the Earl of Salisbury but his great fortune had not come from his birth.

No, life had smiled on him when he had married Anne Beauchamp, only daughter of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick although at that time he had no notion of what great good fortune that was. At the time of his marriage two lives had stood between him and the vast Beauchamp inheritance. Anne’s brother Henry, heir of Warwick, died leaving only a daughter as his heiress and two years after her father’s death this child died. Anne was sole heiress and so everything passed to her husband, who had become Earl of Warwick and the richest nobleman in the country.

Anne had brought him a great deal but there was one thing she had failed in. He had no son. He had his two girls, Isabel and Anne – delightful creatures, but girls. And Anne could bear him no more children. Well, she had made him rich and brought him a great title so he must be content, and his two girls would be the greatest heiresses in the Kingdom.

After the first battle of St. Albans and his exploits in Calais he was accepted as one of the heroes of the age and he had become one of those legendary figures who cannot be suppressed. There might be the occasional setback...but there was nothing which could deter them for long. He could turn defeat into victory as he had after the second battle of St. Albans. Who would have believed that after suffering such a defeat—one might say a debacle—he would be riding into London and proclaiming a new King.

He had genius. There was no doubt about it. He knew it and in his cleverness had made others accept that fact.

He was the Lord of the Kingdom.

Edward would have given him any honour he needed. He only had to ask.

‘What shall it be, Richard?’ he had said. I owe so much to you.’

He had shrugged his shoulders. He could not be the King. But he was Warwick.

He said: I will be just Warwick. I think that is enough.’

Edward declared with ready satisfaction that it certainly was. No one in the kingdom should ever doubt what everyone owed to Warwick.

‘Ah, my good friend, you are right. The name Warwick is as proud as any man could wish.’

Edward had that easy charm. He liked to leave things to Warwick. Warwick was shrewd; he had the people with him. But not so much as Edward had. How they loved that golden youth in whom the marks of debauchery had not yet begun to show, but they would, Warwick knew; none could live as Edward did and remain unscathed. The people thought it was manly. God forbid! But it was a change of course after the piety of Henry. It was surprising that though people admired piety and applauded it, they soon grew heartily sick of it; and when a libertine like Edward rode through their streets and eyed the merchants’ wives and daughters the merchants seemed to like it.

There was no doubt that Edward possessed that indefinable quality called charm. That was all to the good. He was the best possible figurehead behind whom a King-Maker could work, as long as Edward did not forget that he owed his position to Warwick.

Often he told the King that he was not completely safe. True Margaret was on the continent and Henry in the Tower; but while Margaret lived they must be watchful. She had friends in France. Not only her father—poor ineffectual René, drooling over a young wife now...well, he would do that very well, Warwick was sure. They must not forget him though. He could be in a position to supply Margaret with the means to return. But the big menace was the King of France.

‘He is not so fond of Margaret as his father was,’ said Edward. I doubt he would want to be embroiled.’

‘He would like to harass us...a pastime greatly loved by the French for as long as any of us can remember.’

‘He would not want to go to war with us.’

‘He might like to help Margaret to do so. The North is ready to rise with her. Don’t forget they hid Henry all those years. He has friends up there. Edward, a marriage in the right quarter could do our cause all the good in the world.’

Edward nodded.

‘Marriage with France,’ went on Warwick tentatively.

‘Indeed yes.’ Edward was thinking of the most enchanting woman he had ever met. When he had been hunting she had suddenly appeared before him and throwing herself on her knees had begged him to restore her husband’s estates. Edward had been amazed that one so young could be a widow. Her husband she told him had been killed at the second battle of St. Albans.

Edward fell in love as rapidly and regularly as most people sat down to dinner; and because of his charm and royalty he could invariably dispense with the preliminaries of courtship. It had been different with the fair young widow. She was most elusive, so he was thinking of her and only half listening to Warwick. He knew Warwick was right, of course. He would have to marry and marry soon. He only hoped the French Princess was personable. He could not abide ugly women. But with his habitual easy-going temperament he shrugged all that aside. He would have to do his duty and that need not interfere with his enjoyment.

Warwick was saying something about negotiations with the King of France, talking a little smugly. Edward smiled inwardly. He believed Louis treated Warwick as an equal. It was amazing what store Warwick set on that.

‘No honours,’ he had said. ‘It is enough to be Warwick.’

‘Louis has changed his tune of late,’ said Warwick complacently. ‘He is aware of our strength.’

Warwick was smiling to himself. He meant his power. The wily King of France knew where the power in England lay. The man who had his respect was not so much the King as the King-Maker.

Oh yes, he could be proud. He certainly was at the pinnacle of power.

The King of France was indeed his friend. When his ambassador, Jean de Lannoy, arrived in England he had glittering prospects to lay before Warwick. He could work with Louis. There would be peace between their countries. They would stand against Burgundy; and they would be the firm allies which surely fortune had meant two such brilliant men to be.

And of course there should be a French marriage. Edward needed a wife. Perhaps, considered Louis, his daughter was too young. She needed more years to grow up. What of his wife’s sister. Bona of Savoy?

This would be an excellent arrangement Warwick decided. He discussed it with his brother George.

‘The King should settle into matrimony,’ he said. ‘It is very necessary for one of his temperament. He should be producing heirs instead of bastards.’

George said that this was certainly so but he wondered how the King would feel about the choice of bride. Since he had become a connoisseur of feminine charms he might be difficult to please.

‘This is a marriage, George. No need for romance. Let the King marry and produce an heir. Who knows it might even sober him a little.’

George was in full agreement. It was an excellent idea to make a marriage which would please the King of France and strengthen the friendship between their two countries.

Edward listening to the proposal displayed his usual tolerant charm.

‘Can we trust Louis?’ he asked.

‘A marriage will bring us closer to him. When can one ever completely trust one’s allies?’

‘This Bona of Savoy...’ mused Edward.

‘A lovely creature by all accounts.’

‘They always are,’ said Edward. ‘Oh well, I daresay she is fair enough.’

Warwick was pleased when he reported to George.

‘He has given his promise?’

‘He has not said in so many words that he will agree to the marriage, but he will. He will see the advantages. Edward is no fool. He loves his crown. He’ll do everything he can to keep it.’

‘Or let you keep it for him.’

‘I think he is appreciative of what I have done.’

‘I should hope so.’

‘I knew when I made him King what to expect of Edward. I shall be with him shortly. He is pausing for a brief visit to Grafton Regis to stay with Lord Rivers and after that he will join me.’

‘He seems to have become very fond of the Rivers.’

Warwick laughed. ‘I believe his latest flame is Rivers’ daughter. Woodville’s widow.’

‘A very comely woman, I believe.’

‘So you have heard of her. My dear brother the King’s path is strewn with comely women.’

It would not be difficult to persuade the King, he was sure. Oh, he was very sure of himself. Rising on the crest of the wave. Warwick supreme. There was no doubt that he was the power in the land. The King of France treated him as though he were royal; he corresponded with him—not with Edward. All over the world he was known as the ruler of England, the power behind the glittering figure of the King, they must deal with him if they wanted friendship with England. Who would be a King when one could be a King-Maker.

He had made sure that his family shared his prosperity. That was wisdom. When he needed support they were at hand to give it. George of course as Chancellor was rich and powerful. John was now Warden of the East Marches; his two sisters had married into influential families, one to William Lord Hastings who was one of the King’s intimate friends and the other to Thomas Lord Stanley, member of a powerful northern family. He had scattered his influence. He believed that if he measured his possessions and his influence against those of the King he would be the richer.

And Edward was amenable. He seemed content to let Warwick rule. Even the King’s licentious habits were in Warwick’s favour. Better for the King to be so interested in the bed rather than politics. Not that Edward was a fool in those matters. There was strength in him and if he did not allow himself to be so often diverted by his pursuit of women he would have been a power to reckon with. So be grateful again, thought Warwick. All the same he must not allow Edward to become too friendly with men like Hastings, Stafford and Herbert. It would not do for him to get it into his head that he could do without Warwick. Not that he had, but he was growing up. It was easier to deal with a boy of seventeen than it was with a man rising into his twenties.

Edward was not a vindictive man. He could easily forgive his enemies; and one who had fought against him one year could become a friend the next. He was even ready to cultivate the young Duke of Somerset whose father had been one of the chief Lancastrians and Edward’s greatest enemy.

‘Unlike the scriptures, I do not visit the sins of the fathers on the third and fourth generation,’ said Edward. ‘If a man likes to come to me and be my friend, I shall be ready to forget what his father has done.’

And he did attract men to him; that ease of manner, that charm, those outstanding good looks brought him admirers and friends as well as a host of mistresses.

He was becoming very fond of the Rivers family, Warwick noticed. Why, Warwick could not understand. Surely it was not because he had at one time taken a fane y to Rivers’ daughter?

‘If he is going to favour the families of his mistresses,’ he joked to George, ‘we shall have so many favoured ones in the land that favours will be the older of the day. But we must get him married. I shall get an answer from him at the very next council meeting.’

It was at this council meeting that Warwick received his first intimation that the relationship between himself and Edward had changed.

There were many of Edward’s new and intimate friends present, and Warwick did not realize at first that they were there to rally round the King, who gave no indication to Warwick that anything had changed between them.

Everyone knew what hopes Warwick pinned on friendship with the King of France and how he prided himself on his ability to handle Louis. Therefore the first shock came when Edward declared that he did not trust Louis of France.

‘We have heard from our good friend the Earl of Warwick.’ said the King, ‘that Louis is eager for an alliance with us. But it is a fact that Pierre de Brézé, who is Margaret of Anjou’s warmest and most faithful supporter, is highly favoured at the Court of France.’

‘This is not so,’ cried Warwick. ‘When Louis came to the throne Pierre de Brézé was imprisoned in Loches...’

‘And quickly released,’ retorted Edward. ‘Moreover 1 have it from one of our French prisoners that Louis is plotting against us.’

‘That is nonsense,’ cried Warwick, shattered not so much by these accusations as by the fact that Edward had brought them up before the Council without first consulting him. ‘I shall send a despatch to the King of France immediately informing him of the allegations which have been made against him and asking him to prove to you all that they are nonsense.’

He looked defiantly at the King who met his eyes with a smile as he said that as usual the Earl of Warwick had got to the root of the matter and if he thought that was the right action then so must it be.

Warwick breathed more freely. It was not really a revolt. It was just an opinion he had expressed. He had not meant to go against him deliberately.

‘And now,’ said Warwick, ‘there is the question of the King’s marriage. This must be settled. I hope very nun h that the King will agree with me.’

Again that charming, affable smile. ‘I do, my lord. Indeed I do. Nothing would suit me better than to be married.’

‘Your subjects will be delighted,’ cried Warwick.

‘It may be,’ said the King, ‘that my choice may not be 10 the liking of everyone present. No matter, I shall do as I like in this.’

‘My lord,’ said Warwick beaming with pleasure, ‘tell us who is your chosen bride.’

He was certain now that all was well. He had discussed the marriage with Bona of Savoy, and Edward had understood what advantages it could bring.

I hen Warwick could not believe he had heard correctly. Had the King gone mad?

He was saying: ‘I have chosen my bride. She will be Elizabeth Woodville, daughter of Lord Rivers.’

A deep silence fell upon them. Warwick sat as though numb.

At length George Neville spoke. ‘The lady is virtuous and very beautiful, my lord,’ he said, ‘but is she not too far below you for marriage?’

‘She is indeed virtuous and beautiful,’ agreed the King. ‘As for her lowly station, praise be to God that is a matter which can easily be remedied.’

George was trying to divine what his brother was thinking. He knew that he could have had no idea that the King was going to announce this.

He stammered: ‘I know her mother was the Dowager Duchess of Bedford but she is not the daughter of a duke...nor an earl even. How would such a marriage be received, my lord? What would other rulers think?’

‘They shall be at liberty to think what they will. I will have Elizabeth Woodville or no one.’

‘My lord!’ Everyone was intent on Warwick who had now risen to his feet. ‘I know well your jovial nature. You are amusing yourself at our expense. You do not mean this, of course...’

Edward was still smiling but there was a strong note in his voice.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I mean it with all my heart. Stop your efforts to persuade me. In any case they are too late. Elizabeth Woodville and I were married at Grafton Regis...’

Warwick sank to his chair. He said nothing. The beats of his heart were like hammer strokes. He could have struck that smiling, handsome face.

He said nothing, but he knew it was over.

The puppet had turned into a man and was no longer his to control.

When Warwick left the council chamber he had a great desire to be alone to think. In all his life he had never felt so shattered. That Edward had acted so was bad enough but it was some time since that May day at Grafton Regis and he had been keeping his marriage secret all this time...and meanwhile he, Warwick, had been negotiating with the King of France. Edward had humiliated him in the extreme. Not only had he broken free but he had actually kept this all important secret from the man who had made him.

Warwick was not sure how to act.

His brother George came to him in great anxiety. For some moments they looked at each other, unable to express their thoughts. George was very worried.

At length he said: ‘What shall you do?’

‘He is determined to act as he fancies. It is this woman. She must be a witch.’

‘He is easily bewitched by women.’

‘He has had so many he must feel very deeply to have been dragged into this by this one. Think what it means. He allowed me to negotiate with Louis while he was actually married. I shall be the laughing stock of all France and England.’

‘Not you, brother. Louis will understand that we have a feckless stallion to deal with.’

‘I shall never forget the way he stood there smiling at me...with that look in his eyes. "I will do what pleases me. I shall take no heed of the needs of my country, of the efforts the man who put the crown on my head made to do just that." Oh George, what base ingratitude!’

‘Indeed it is so,’ agreed George.

‘And think of the implications.’

‘I am thinking of that and wondering how you will act. Do you think it would be better to say nothing just at first? After all the deed is done. They are married. Nothing can change that...save divorce. You behaved with admirable calm at the Council.’

‘I was shocked into silence.’

‘That is not such a bad thing for it might have been dangerous for you to have spoken your thoughts.’

‘By God if I had...’

‘Yes...And we all were with you. This is an act of folly which I doubt not the King will learn to his cost and when he does it is to you he will turn, brother. He will wish that he had listened to you.’

Warwick was silent. George was right, of course. George had a clear, incisive mind. He would have to accept this low-born woman as the Queen. And in time it might well be that having seen his folly the King would turn back to him. He sighed deeply. Then he said: ‘You are right, George. I must be calm. I must say nothing. I must appear to accept this woman as Queen.’

Thus when Edward came to him smiling as though there had been no rift between them he agreed to present the Queen to the lords in Reading Abbey.

‘My brother Clarence will walk on one side of Elizabeth and you, Richard, on the other. That pleases me. My brother and my closest friend to welcome her. She will be so happy...and so shall I.’

Swallowing his rage, suppressing his rancour Warwick did it but it needed iron control of his feelings to perform the exercise with a good grace.

To keep up this attitude was easier to contemplate than to put into practice.

Elizabeth Woodville was an ambitious lady and she was surrounded by impecunious members of her family. She was determined to advance them and such was her power over the King that she had little difficulty in doing this.

Warwick was glad to see that many of the nobles were growing more and more disgruntled by the elevation of the Woodville family. The Queen married her sister Margaret to Lord Maltravers, son of the Earl of Arundel; her sister Mary was married to the son of Lord Herbert who was heir (o the Pembroke title; and there was outraged indignation when her brother John, aged twenty, became betrothed to the Duchess of Norfolk who was nearly eighty years old.

It was easy to see the motives behind these marriages. No one could realize the tremendous importance of the right marriage more than Warwick. He owed his vast wealth and titles to his. He could see that in a short time the Woodvilles would be of greater importance than the Nevilles through these advantageous marriages.

The people did not like it. They deplored the marriage. Even the most humble in the land criticized the low birth old Elizabeth Woodville—which was amusing if it were not so very useful.

It began to dawn on Warwick that if he were not careful he would be ousted from the realms of power. All that he had clone would be forgotten; there would be a new ruling family in the country—that of the Woodvilles.

The time had come (or him to do some deep thinking. What did a King-Maker do when his puppet refused to respond to the strings? He found a new puppet.

It was an exciting project. There’ was another. At the moment he was a poor neglected prisoner in the Tower.

‘This needed a great deal of thought.

There came a day when he found himself face to face with Edward and because his plans were now taking real shape in his mind he no longer felt the need to cloak his feelings.

Edward noticed the strange brooding expression on his face and when he asked what ailed him, Warwick’s rage broke out.

‘Need you ask, my lord? I am suffering from a surfeit of disloyalty. I have given my life to what I believed was a good cause. I have squandered men and money in giving England a ruler whom I thought would serve her well. And what does he do? He makes a marriage which is suicide to his political advantage. He has destroyed the hope of an alliance with France. As for myself I have had indignity heaped upon me. While I was negotiating with the King of France you, my lord, were making a mockery of those negotiations...of not only your faithful friend but the King of a powerful country. Do you wonder I am sick at heart?’

Edward expressed no surprise that he should be addressed in this manner by a subject. He had always recognized Warwick as a specially favoured one. He laid an arm about his shoulders.

‘You distress yourself unnecessarily,’ he said. ‘I know the people don’t like my marriage. But Elizabeth is different from all other women I have ever known...and I speak of one who knows the sex well. It was the only way, Richard. It was marriage or nothing...’

‘And you were duped by that tale?’

‘Oh come, she meant it. She was a virtuous widow.’

Warwick threw off the King’s arm. ‘It was an act of folly and I promise you it is one you will regret.’

He did not wait for more. He had made the break now. Affable as he was, Edward would not forget that scene in a hurry.

Now he would have to act, Warwick had decided, and he knew what he was going to do.

Warwick rode north to his castle of Middleham, his head teeming with plans. At Middleham were the King’s brothers George and Richard. He had always been on very good terms with them. There could not be two brothers less alike. George, Duke of Clarence was vain, avaricious and selfish; he was easily swayed and Warwick had been able to win his friendship. The other, Richard Duke of Gloucester was a quiet, studious boy, rather delicate, and he had been brought up at Middleham and had formed a close friendship with Warwick’s younger daughter Anne.

Therefore Warwick had the two Princes as he thought in his power. Clarence would be malleable; he was not so sure of Richard. The younger boy was passionately devoted to his brother Edward, and would not be easily persuaded that his own advantage might lie elsewhere. In fact Warwick was certain that Richard would stand by his brother no matter what happened.

Clarence on the other hand was disgruntled. He was old enough to see that the Woodvilles were fast becoming the most important family in the land and that was something he was not prepared to tolerate, for there was an arrogance about the new Queen’s family which extended even to the King’s brother.

So to Middleham where his two daughters, Isabel and Anne, with his wife were waiting to greet him.

Richard was there too, in the courtyard. The boy had grown since he had last seen him, though he was delicate still and one shoulder was higher than the other, though slightly so and almost imperceptible. Poor Richard, he lacked the outstanding good looks and physique of Edward, but that had not prevented his partaking in all the manly pastimes which were necessary for boys of his rank.

The Duke of Clarence was on his way, the Countess told him. He had sent heralds ahead to announce his coming as the Earl had expressed an urgent desire to see him.

Warwick embraced his family. He loved them with as much affection as he could spare from his ambitions. Naturally he had spent little time with them. He could never prevent himself regretting that he had no son; but the girls were pretty, charming and obedient. He must therefore be grateful for what he had.

Clarence arrived in rather flamboyant style, eager that none should forget he was brother to the King. Warwick greeted him with such respect that even Clarence was satisfied. He sat on the Earl’s right hand at table. Warwick intimated that he wished to speak to the two Dukes alone as soon as the meal was concluded.

When the three of them were together in a small but private room Warwick looked very seriously from George to Richard and said that he had no doubt that they were as worried as he was by the manner in which the Woodvilles were behaving.

‘Indeed yes I am!’ cried Clarence. ‘These marriages...this taking of power...and all by these upstarts.’

‘I see you have a grasp of the situation,’ said Warwick. ‘The people are getting displeased. I do not think the King understands how angry the people are growing.’

‘If the people are growing angry my brother the King would be aware of it,’ said Richard gravely.

Ah, thought Warwick, be wary of Richard!

‘Our brother is too busy with his woman,’ said Clarence with a laugh.

‘My lord, you speak truth. I fear this country will be at war again if we do not take heed. In fact I think it is time our King was taught a lesson.’

Richard had gone white. ‘I will not remain here and listen to such lack of respect for the King.’

With that he walked out of the room.

‘You mistake,’ Warwick called after him. ‘I love the King. I have served him with all I have...’

But Richard was gone.

Clarence shrugged his shoulders. ‘He is very young,’ he said. ‘He worships Edward blindly. He even says he likes this marriage because it is what Edward wants.’

‘It is true he is young,’ said Warwick, ‘and therefore you and I need not concern ourselves with him yet. I am glad he has left us for now we can talk as men.’

Clarence smiled, well pleased. ‘I knew you had something of importance to say to me.’

‘Indeed I have. As you know, I have made your brother King of England.’

‘I know you are called the King-Maker.’

‘And rightly. It would seem, my lord, that if we allow matters to go on as they are you and I...and young Richard who will not listen...yet...will be the subjects of the Woodvilles, for all these marriages they are making are going to make them more powerful than any of us...even the King.’

‘I’ll not tolerate that.’

‘I thought you would not.’

‘What then?’

‘Your brother is not so secure on the throne that he can afford such a marriage. There is one other...’

‘Henry...poor old Henry...the prisoner in the Tower.’

‘A figurehead, nothing more. And we would have an heir.

Not Margaret’s bastard...for bastard I believe him to be. Henry could never have begotten a son and she was friendly first with Suffolk and then with Somerset... There would be an heir...’ Warwick was looking intently at Clarence, whose eyes widened as he grasped the Earl’s meaning.

Clarence on the throne! Why not? He was Edward’s brother and in fact if Edward did not produce a child he was next in line.

It was a glorious prospect.

‘Well?’ he said almost imperiously as though the crown was already on his head.

‘The King of France would be our ally. It would be necessary to get his help. We should also bring back Margaret to work for us...’

‘With the Prince of Wales...’

‘Why shouldn’t they work for us? Although the people detest her they like to have everything in order. If we could bring out Henry and ride with him into battle...and bring Margaret and the so-called Prince back to England...’

Clarence’s eyes sparkled. He loved intrigue and as he thought of the possibilities of this he was overcome by excitement. He had always been jealous of Edward. His mother, his father, everyone had marvelled at Edward’s good looks and charm, and it had not been easy for one of Clarence’s nature to have such a brother.

And now Edward had been a fool! He had married that lowborn woman; he had offended Warwick and everyone knew that Warwick had put him on the throne. Edward had at last shown that he was not so clever. And Clarence was going to show that he was clever, very clever indeed.

Warwick was smiling. How easy it was. Henry would be much more malleable. Imagine Clarence on the throne! Still, it might never come to that.

Warwick went on: ‘I have long known your regard for my elder daughter Isabel.’

Clarence was smiling secretly. It was so obvious. Cunning old Warwick. Make Clarence King and his daughter Isabel Queen.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘how well you have guessed my feelings. I have always had the highest regard for Isabel and of late my heart has become deeply involved.’

‘I have been thinking that a match between you two would be a very desirable outcome for you both.’

‘You have guessed my heart’s desire.’

Warwick laid his hand on the young man’s arm.

‘Well, there will be work to be done first.’

‘I can scarcely wait to begin,’ answered Clarence.