This Sun of York

by Susan Appleyard

  They were a fascinating quartet. Louis, who hadn’t set eyes on his father since 1446 and couldn’t entirely conceal his contempt for his father even in letters, had spent most of his adult life in self-imposed exile at the Burgundian court. When he was granted asylum there King Charles wrote to Duke Philip warning that he was giving shelter to the fox who would eat his chickens. While Charles of Charolais managed to maintain cordial relations with his parent most of the time, he had on one occasion been forced to take refuge at the French court. Since King Charles and Duke Philip were – not exactly enemies at the moment, but deeply suspicious and mistrustful of each other, this situation led to all manner of intrigue. Warwick, at first an interested bystander, was soon totally absorbed in the drama. His favourite player was Louis.

  “According to those who have seen him Louis is a most unprepossessing fellow,” Warwick told Edward. “His big nose is not a handsome nose, like mine, but dips down at the end toward his chin and possesses cavernous nostrils, while his chin thrusts out and up as if to meet that pendulous nose. In between is a small, secretive mouth, barely visible. Add a somewhat high and jutting brow and in profile Louis’ face is said to resemble nothing so much as a quarter moon!

  “He sounds repulsive,” said the handsome youth.

  “Ah, but what he lacks in good looks he more than compensates for in intellect. This too comes across in his letters. Not only the conventional sort of intelligence many men possess, but the kind of cunning inherent only in a man born and bred to adversity and living always by his wits. Louis is brilliant: sharp, perceptive, shrewd and devious; and the best part is that he genuinely seems to admire me. We have a good friend there.”

  “Ought we not rather be courting the friendship of Burgundy? Louis is an exile in a foreign court.”

  “No, what we must do is what I am doing: making friends wherever we find them. But that leads me to what I want to talk to you about. A treaty with Burgundy that has been in force for twenty years has been allowed to lapse. You and I know how incompetent our enemies are. It is entirely possible that they’ve been so busy with us that they have simply overlooked this important piece of business. But it is also possible, and in my view likely, that they just don’t care, that under Margaret’s influence they have decided France is the better choice and are quite prepared to let relations with Burgundy lapse. In which case, it is our chance to show our talents in the arenas of statecraft and diplomacy and make an important ally.”

  Despite his poverty, Warwick invited a delegation of Burgundians to a feast at the castle. In typical lavish style, he served thirty courses including all that was best from the sea along that coast, and such delicacies as roast quail in a cream sauce and peacock redressed in its own glorious feathers so that it looked as if it was capable of arising from the huge charger to strut around the hall. To entertain during the meal, there was a troupe of Moorish dancers and a Welsh bard who could scarcely make himself heard above the roar of general conversation and eventually stalked out of the hall in a mighty huff. It was all very informal. The good food and plentiful wine, along with the charm Warwick could exert when he put his mind to it put everyone in such a good mood that when he later led the Burgundians to a smaller room where they could discuss their business in private, it was like sitting down to chat with old friends. Salisbury accompanied them, as did Edward, to listen and learn.

  “I’ll be frank,” said Warwick, who was seldom anything but, as soon as they were all settled with full wine cups, a fire roaring in the grate, and a couple of the castle hounds stretched out before it. “What I’m looking for is simply a beginning of formal relations between my party and your Duke. Perhaps a truce of short duration will serve. And later, when we have established ourselves in England – in other words” – an ingratiating smile flashed out – “when we have proved ourselves as valuable and useful allies, perhaps something more can be negotiated to the mutual benefit of both lands.”

  If the Seigneur de Lannoy thought these words strange coming from a man who in no way represented his government and was not even the leader of the party mentioned, who was, in fact, nothing but a rebel earl under attainder, he gave no sign of it. Although he wasn’t an accredited ambassador, the Seigneur de Lannoy had been empowered by Duke Philip to treat with Warwick and to see what could be had from him, in spite of his lack of credentials. This was in part due to Warwick’s reputation as a man of the future, a man to be reckoned with, but also because the government of Henry VI was inclining toward friendship with France. Therefore, it was in the interests of France’s chief enemy to befriend England’s rebel lords.

  “But let me ask you something,” the portly Burgundian said, “how sure are you that your party will ever hold power in England?”

  Warwick looked pained. “Seigneur, I confess myself surprised and disappointed that you would ask such a question.”

  “It has happened before that your party has come to power and yet not been able to hold it,” Lannoy pointed out gently.

  “Regrettably true,” said Warwick with a sigh. “But we learn from our mistakes. It will be different this time, I promise you. I would ask your Duke not to doubt me.”

  “Have you any plans in place?”

  “Not at the moment. The damnable business of day-to-day survival preoccupies us. However, our numbers grow daily, and the continuing folly of our enemies only makes our swift return all the more certain.”

  “You do realise, I hope, that if we were to reach an agreement, say for a three-month truce, as you mentioned earlier, such agreement would in no way preclude the renewal of negotiations with your government at some point in the near future.”

  “Of course not! My dear Seigneur, I understand full well how our two countries depend upon one another for trade. That is why I say it is unconscionable that the government has allowed this vital treaty to lapse. Those parts touching trade agreements benefit England and Burgundy equally. If I were in a position of power, you may be sure I would be shifting heaven and earth to get our envoys together to hammer out a further agreement. What can our government be thinking?” Warwick shook his head gravely. “I also understand that Philip, being a wise statesman, will do all in his power to safeguard his land against his enemies – principally, of course, France. That means he must court England. My only hope is that he can see some benefit to himself in the friendship of the Earl of Warwick.”

  “It is hard to see,” said Lannoy, smiling slowly, “how the friendship of the Earl of Warwick can be anything but an advantage to any man.”

  At that moment, a guard entered the room, leant down and spoke softly into Warwick’s ear. The earl nodded and said, “I take it there’s no cause for alarm?”

  “No, my lord, but your standing order is to be informed.”

  “Quite right.” The guard retired, and Warwick got to his feet. “Gentlemen, a little spectacle awaits us. If you’ll follow me.”

  They followed him up to the ramparts, into a tower, up a narrow winding stair and out again onto its roof, where they had a splendid view of the sea on one side and the countryside on the others. From such a vantage, it was possible to see that the marshes were a series of pools linked by canals with little islands of reeds, moss and shrubbery between. The men crowded to the east overlooking the causeway where the soldiers from both garrisons were already at it: another doomed attempt by Somerset to dislodge Warwick from his stronghold.

  “You have heard me speak of our enemies’ incompetence and folly,” said Warwick, grinning, “and here is a typical example. Every few days my lord of Somerset sends his men out onto the causeway to attack the citadel, and I have to send mine out to repulse them. There are always dead and wounded, mostly his men. But while I am welcoming reinforcements almost daily from England, there are no reinforcements for him. Should his friends send reinforcements, you may be sure I’ll do my best to make sure they don’t reach him. He is wasting his manpower, squandering lives in these futile efforts. I can understand a man stri
ving to achieve his goals – none better – but there must be some hope of attainment. Otherwise, the effort is sheer folly.”

  “We hear there is a large fleet assembling at Sandwich to come to his relief,” said Lannoy.

  Warwick laughed, shared a look with Edward, who said, “I have it on good authority that they’ll never make it.” The Burgundians joined in the laughter.

  Chapter 35

  January 1460 – Sandwich

  In the early afternoon of a clear and chilly January day, John Dyneham, who, until that momentous October night when he had encountered a group of horsemen on Exmoor, had never done anything more exciting than a visit to Winchester when he was a lad, sailed from Calais. With him were, among others, a mercer, two yeomen, a tailor, a chapman, a merchant, a servant, an apothecary and a butcher, mostly men of Sandwich, all of whom were under his command.

  The Earl of Warwick had many men of Sandwich, as well as the other ports, among his adherents, and so was kept fully informed of developments. Lord Rivers had been commissioned to assemble a fleet to take men and armaments to Somerset’s relief. He now had a considerable number of ships riding at anchor, and the word was that his preparations were almost complete.

  While Rivers mustered men and laid in stores, Warwick laid his own plans. He was determined that those ships should never leave port – unless it was under his own colours. Otherwise, they must be destroyed, which would be a mighty shame as he needed a fleet to carry him to England and what better way to get it than to snatch the one his enemies were sending against him. He loved the irony of it.

  It was John who learned the true state of affairs in Sandwich from an old friend who had come over to serve with the earls.

  ‘It’s very strange. I don’t understand it,’ he had told them with a bewildered shake of the head.

  ‘What?’ Warwick demanded.

  ‘My lord of Somerset is in a desperate position. That fleet is crucial to him, particularly now that it’s fully loaded and at such a cost that a simple man like me can hardly imagine but which a bankrupt government most certainly can’t afford. It’s such a tempting target to your lordship, who is known to have availed himself of other tempting targets in the past and is held in the highest esteem by the men of the ports.' John paused to let the chuckles die down before finishing. ‘Given all this, common sense would seem to dictate that those ships be well-guarded.’

  ‘Common sense is a quality spectacularly lacking in our enemies,’ Warwick said.

  Edward’s eyebrows climbed. ‘And are they not?’

  ‘Three pairs of sentries patrol the docks at night. It's hard to believe, I know, but I’ve received the information from a man new come from Sandwich, a man I trust. I’m convinced it’s true.’

  ‘Six men!’ Warwick brought the flat of his hand down on the table to underscore the folly of it. ‘Six men to guard that inestimable treasure! And you can safely wager your life that at any given time half of them will be out of commission, either taking a piss, dozing, tossing dice or tumbling a slut in an alley.’

  ‘But where are the men-at-arms Rivers has assembled?’ Salisbury wanted to know because of course the ships were meant not only to carry necessary provisions but also reinforcements for the dwindling garrison of Guines. The Queen hadn’t given up hope that Calais could be taken.

  ‘Most are camped outside the walls, far enough away that they won’t see or hear anything going on at the docks.’

  ‘Aside from the guards, there are about two hundred men stationed aboard the ships to protect them. But they’re unarmed,’ said John, grinning hugely at their astonished faces. ‘Their arms have been wrapped and stored to protect them from the sea air. Those six are the only ones who are armed.”

  Warwick blinked twice. ‘Can this be true? Can we be so lucky?’

  ‘Of course, it is,’ Salisbury grinned. ‘It makes sense to protect arms from salt air.’

  ‘Who is he – this Lord Rivers?’ John had asked Edward later.

  ‘All I know of him is that he was Lieutenant of Calais when Somerset held the captaincy, and he married above himself. His wife is better known. She is the Dowager Duchess of Bedford, born Jacquetta of Luxemburg, sister of the present Count of St. Pol. She was fourteen or so and quite a beauty when she wed Bedford, brother to Henry V, who must have been all of fifty – old enough, at any rate, to know better. She led the old fellow a merry dance. After Bedford’s death, she married one of the gentlemen of his household, Sir Richard Woodville, as he was then, without royal consent. It was a huge scandal. The pair had to retire from court. Eventually, she cozened the King into forgiving her and ennobling her husband.’

  ‘Not very bright, is he?’

  ‘You won’t have any trouble overcoming him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, did I forget to mention? You’re to lead the expedition to Sandwich.’

  ‘Me? Why me?’ He was quite sure he had sounded foolish.

  ‘Because I persuaded my lord of Warwick that you are the man for the job.’

  ‘But…but…’ He said the first thing that came into his head. ‘I puked at the executions.’

  ‘I almost puked at St. Albans.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Listen, John, you have made yourself very useful to us. You hid us at your home when we were fugitives and found the ship that allowed us to escape England. Now is the chance for you to win yourself a little glory. I know you can do it. So, no more ‘buts’. Let’s start making plans.’

  Earlier that day, just before John boarded his ship, Warwick had said briskly, ‘I want those ships captured and brought back here if possible. If not burn them or sink them. God be with you, Master Dyneham.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my lord. A babe in swaddling could do the job.” Not boastful by nature, John winced at his own words. If he failed, they would come back to haunt him. But he wasn’t going to fail.

  After a smooth and uneventful voyage and quite brilliant navigation, his fleet sailed into the harbour at three o’clock in the morning. With the eager compliance of the townsfolk, his band of stalwarts seized the port without loss of life or limb. They overpowered the guards with the greatest ease. The soldiers on board the laden ships were found sleeping. Half naked and groggy, they were rounded up, herded ashore and stuffed into an empty warehouse. The camp outside town was alerted only when it was far too late.

  Once all was secure at the docks, John led a dozen men to the Red Lion, a popular inn with travellers, where the landlord had carelessly left the kitchen door unlatched. Just for the fun of it, John personally invaded the room, where Lord Rivers and his wife slept, with a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other. A mistake, that was, as it took him quite some time to reassure the hysterical dowager duchess that she was not about to be murdered in her bed.

  When she had bitten off her shrieks, and her husband was flapping a corner of the bed sheet in her face, John said with the utmost civility, “My Lord and Lady Rivers, I am John Dyneham, a gentleman of Devon. I pray you make ready to accompany me. You are now the prisoners of the Lords of Calais.” It was one of the finest moments of his young life, and he fancied he had carried it off with aplomb.

  His aplomb was slightly shaken when Lord Rivers’ wife shrilly informed him and his men that her correct title was Dowager Duchess of Bedford, and they had better remember that through her first husband she was aunt-by-marriage to the King or they would be sorry. She had a voice a drill serjeant might have envied. John glanced at her husband with considerable sympathy.

  Shouting their outrage at their motley captors, the pair, with their son, Anthony, who had been sleeping in another room, were hustled off to Calais along with all the ships, men, arms and precious supplies Lord Rivers had been at such pains to assemble for the benefit of the Duke of Somerset.

  On the torch lit docks, Warwick, March and Salisbury, greeted the unlikely heroes, pumped their hands vigorously, buffeted them between the shoulder blades and assured them of a j
ust reward when the earls once more came into their own.

  “Well done, Master Dyneham!” Warwick said jubilantly and turned to Edward. Didn’t I tell you the means would be found to take us home? At least we have the transport. The Staplers will just have to supply the money, like it or not. I think it’s time I went to see your father.”

  Chapter 36

  March 1460 – Ireland

  It had become imperative that Warwick speak to York in person. Although they had remained in communication, the passing of messages was a dangerous undertaking, as well as a slow one. One of York’s messengers on his way to Calais had already fallen afoul of the authorities in Ostend and was thrown into prison until Warwick sent a pursuivant-at-arms to pay his fine and obtain his release. Fortunately, the messages were intact. Next time they might not be so lucky. If a messenger fell into the hands of someone sympathetic to the enemy, he might reveal important secrets. To avoid this danger and to speed up the planning process, Warwick had decided to use some of the ships he had captured to sail to Ireland and coordinate plans for the invasion with York. Such a voyage was also a dangerous undertaking – or should have been. As it turned out, he was able to sail around the southern coast of England and into the Irish Sea without encountering any enemy vessels. While he was relieved at not having to fight anything displaying the King’s flag, he was also disgusted. If the French took it into their heads to launch another raid on the English coast, they’d have as easy a time of it as Pierre de Breze had when he raided Sandwich.