Текст книги "The Red Rose of Anjou"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
‘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.
