Текст книги "The Red Rose of Anjou"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

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.

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.