This Sun of York

by Susan Appleyard

  “My dear son,” she murmured, forgetting that it was necessary to raise her voice above the roar of the crowd.

  Rising, Edward abandoned all sense of formality, seized his sister, whose face was wreathed in smiles, lifted her effortlessly off her feet and swung her round and round until the two of them were breathless with laughter. The crowd loved it.

  ……….

  How did one go about deposing a king and creating another? It wasn’t something that happened every day – or every century. There were a few precedents. Henry of Bolingbroke had deposed his cousin Richard II and then became king as Henry IV, first of the house of Lancaster. Edward II had been deposed, and his young son had succeeded him as Edward III. But circumstances were different in both cases and lent few clues as to how to proceed. Fortunately, there was one man who had the confidence to do it.

  “If parliament were in session we could obtain Henry’s deposition like that,” said Warwick, snapping his fingers “and it would have the weight of the law of the land. However, parliament isn’t in session, so that’s going to have to wait. But don’t worry. Leave everything to me. I know exactly what must be done.”

  Anyone keeping a close watch on the courtyard of Baynard’s Castle the following day would have seen a continuous stream of visitors coming and going from morning till night, as the Yorkist lords took counsel and planned their strategy. The candles burned very late in some of the chambers. George Neville, Warwick’s clever brother, Bishop of Exeter and Chancellor of England, arrived late in the day from Canterbury and immediately closeted himself with Warwick.

  “No need to tell me the news. I’ve heard it bruited on every street corner from Southwark to Temple Bar,” said the bishop, taking a seat in a comfortable fireside chair and stretching his hands and feet to the blaze. His skin, as fair and flawless as a young maiden’s, looked as if it had never seen a razor. His nose had only a little aristocratic bump in it. “The wheel of fortune sometimes spins in dizzying circles, does it not, Brother? Ten days ago, for my safety, I was obliged to seek shelter with the archbishop in Canterbury and now here we are… So, our cousin Edward is to be elevated to the throne. You saw something in him from the very start, didn’t you?”

  Warwick laughed. “Yes, but it wasn’t an aura of majesty. I’m not that prescient!”

  He handed his brother a jewelled goblet of Bordeaux wine and sat in the opposite chair. Slender, elegant fingers, loaded with rings, closed on it gratefully. Brother George was already devoted to the finer things in life.

  “He’s very young,” the bishop said gravely. “He could grow in any direction.”

  “True, but his youth means that he’ll need the counsel of older and wiser heads.” Warwick smiled deprecatingly. “Men like you, George, as a prince of the church, and me, as head of the government. Edward will reign, but I intend to rule.”

  “One thing at a time, dear brother,” the bishop demurred. “Are you certain he will be accepted?”

  “Oh, yes! For these three reasons: One, he is York’s heir and Henry’s heir also. Two, in winning the battle of Mortimer’s Cross he has proved his worth. And three, he has already won the hearts of the Londoners.”

  “He has that.”

  “I wish you could have seen our arrival, George,” Warwick said with rare enthusiasm. “The people loved him. Imagine how they must have contrasted him with Daft Harry in their minds. I’d told him he looked like a king, but yesterday he looked like a god, a splendid golden god. He was completely at ease with the crowd, unselfconscious and full of natural grace. And when he picked Margaret up and spun her around the crowd went wild. They love that kind of spontaneity.”

  “Yes, a bonny lad,” the bishop agreed placidly. “So how do we translate him into a bonny king and what can I do?”

  “In these circumstances, there is only one way to go about it. He must be chosen by popular acclaim. The commons must demand that he become their king, and Edward must graciously assent. I want to keep events moving at a fast pace allowing no time for second thoughts and before the impression Edward made on them yesterday has a chance to dim. It’s up to you, George, to persuade the citizens that Edward is a better choice than Henry. Can you do it?”

  “Given the mood of the city, I foresee no difficulty,” said the bishop confidently.

  The Londoners had been alerted not by proclamation but by word of mouth that momentous events were about to unfold in St. John’s field in Clerkenwell where the soldiers of Edward’s army were encamped. By coincidence, it was a Sunday. A large showed up. The honey-tongued chancellor climbed into the back of a wagon and began to eulogise Edward, Earl of March, extolling his virtues, reminding them of his accomplishments and explaining in detail his title to the throne. All of this was received so agreeably by his audience that George instinctively knew it wasn’t necessary to trot out the long list of grievances that he had rehearsed against Henry and contented himself by saying only that Henry’s mental instability made him unfit to rule. And then he asked his audience if they would have Henry for their king, and the answer was a unanimous: No! No! No! And when he asked if they wanted the Earl of March as their king, their response was such a powerful shout of assent that all the birds perched in the trees rose into the air with a flutter of wings. Yes! Yes! Yes! The crowd was seeded with Warwick’s agents, as well as Edward’s soldiers but there was no doubt that the citizens had made their choice. They chanted over and over a ditty composed in Edward’s honour: ‘Let us walk in a new vineyard, and let us make a gay garden in the month of March, with this fair white rose and herb, the Earl of March.’

  A select group of knights carried the news to Baynard’s Castle, where Edward waited. On bended knees, with heads bowed, they informed him that the people had chosen him as their king. To which Edward graciously replied, “I bow to the will of the people.”

  Chapter 59

  March 1461 – London

  There hadn’t been a coronation in England for almost forty years. No one wanted to miss this one. Even a truncated version would be well worth the watching when the central figure was so splendid. So the Londoners awarded themselves an unofficial holiday and turned out into the early morning streets to enjoy the festivities – the music, the ceremonies, the procession and the traditional largesse thrown to the crowd on such occasions.

  Fate had awarded Edward a perfect, clear, cool day to mark the first of his reign, when the winds so common in March stayed in their caves and sent in their place only a crisp little breeze that stung noses and cheeks to a becoming rosiness. At dawn the people began to gather outside Baynard’s Castle, watching avidly as the great lords and prelates then present in the city began to arrive. At midmorning the gates opened, and out came a pair of heralds, blaring a flourish on their trumpets, followed by two score household men, dressed in the blue and murrey of the house of York. Then came a brave band of musicians culled from the guilds, followed by the great lords of state and church, dressed as sumptuously as haste permitted, the bishops with their tall mitres and jewelled crosses, earls in cloaks lined with miniver and decked out with their best jewels. Next came a carriage. The blinds were open to show Cecily of York, still draped in black apart from a snowy white wimple framing her still handsome face, and on the other side her daughter Margaret, smiling and animated, waving gaily to the crowd.

  The crowd gasped and sighed as the focal point of all this attention rode through the gate: a tall, resplendent figure, clad in a doublet of scarlet cloth of gold, the sleeves slashed with gold cloth of gold, long legs encased in hose the colour of newly minted coins. His mantle was lined with cloth of gold, and a chain of gold links spanned his broad shoulders of alternating suns and roses. He had taken the Sun-in-Splendor as his device to commemorate the sign of the Trinity at Mortimer’s Cross. An array of gems, set in gold, sparkled on each of his fingers. His smile came easily, naturally. The people were eager to be dazzled, and Edward didn’t disappoint.

  At St. Paul’s he dismounted and went
inside to kneel before the altar. The chancellor delivered a sermon liberally sprinkled with Latin phrases and biblical quotations, complete with chapter and verse, to exhibit his prodigious learning. And when the people crowding into the cathedral were asked if they would have the Earl of March as their king they once again thundered, Yes! Yes! Yes! To show that he was made king by popular acclaim.

  The procession then reformed, passed out of Ludgate and went along Fleet Street toward Westminster. Nothing brightened the lives of the Londoners like a bit of pageantry. They would turn out in droves even to watch that sad sack Henry VI ride in procession on certain Feast Days. The young and handsome Edward promised to be far more watchable. So at the chancellor’s invitation, they streamed out of the city at the tail of the procession, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new King in his royal robes.

  In Westminster Hall, Edward was received by the Archbishop of Canterbury and all the lords spiritual and temporal then in the city, and took his oath, swearing to rule justly and to keep the laws of the land. After which he was arrayed in royal robes and led to the seat of kings, the very throne upon which his father had placed a proprietary hand a bare six months earlier and been summarily rejected. The son now took his seat upon it and felt at once a sense of great comfort, as if it was a favourite chair long since worn to the contours of his body. In a clear voice, he once again explained his right to the crown, and the archbishop faced the people and asked if they would have him for their King. Their shout of assent echoed in the great vaulted ceiling.

  From there Edward walked to the abbey, along an aisle formed by cheering citizens, where the abbot and monks placed in his hands the only piece of royal regalia he was to touch that day, the sceptre of Edward the Confessor, King and Saint, who had founded the abbey, and at whose tomb Edward knelt to make his offering. He prayed that he might be worthy of the great trust the people had placed in him, and implored the help of the heavenly company to defend and promote England and make her great in the world. Finally, he took his seat on the ancient crude throne that had been used in coronations for centuries, and once again explained his right to the crown. Once again, he was acclaimed, and then all the lords came forward one by one to kneel before him and pay homage to him as their sovereign lord, Edward IV, King of England and of France and Lord of Ireland. First among them was his kinsman, the Duke of Norfolk, as precedent demanded, but foremost among them was the Earl of Warwick who, even at such a solemn moment, couldn’t resist gloating a little.

  “You see how easy it was, Cousin?” he whispered, before raising his voice to give the oath of allegiance.

  But Warwick was wrong: it wasn’t easy. Being king was in fact rather intimidating on the most basic level. He had no idea how to begin. At some point during the solemnities, a vision popped into his head of himself marching in full panoply of royal estate into his Palace of Westminster without having the slightest idea of where to go or what to do. Was he expected to move into Henry’s apartment and if so, must he sleep in Henry’s bed and have Henry’s servants wait on him? Who would assign quarters in the palace to the great lords and officers of state? Was it permitted that he creep into the kitchen to snack when he was hungry, or must he wait an interminable time while the order was passed down the hierarchy of servants and the food passed back up again?

  He could not – dare not! – set foot in his palace until he had appointed the servants and officers of his household. But first, he must discover what they were, how many were needed, which class they could be chosen from, which were hereditary, and what were the precise duties of each. It would not do to remove his boots without knowing who was supposed to help him with the task, or wash his hands and accept a towel from one too lowly to be in such proximity to his royal person. It was a tricky thing being a king, with all its protocol and formality, especially for one not ‘born to the purple’ and rather casual in his lifestyle. What he needed was a competent chamberlain. Every great house had one – the officer in ultimate charge of running the household from the correct way to fold napery to organising feasts and housing guests to assessing and announcing visitors. Perhaps Warwick himself would undertake the task as he was quite familiar with Henry’s court and how it was run.

  In the meantime when all the lords had paid homage to him, and Te Deum was sung, he was happy to accept the Bishop of London’s invitation to dine and lodge at the Episcopal Palace and defer these vexing matters to a later time.

  The coronation was of necessity hastily planned and abbreviated. It was tacitly understood that there was no point in placing the crown on that golden head when that golden head might soon fall. There would be time later – God willing – for the full ceremony, once Henry and Margaret had been decisively dealt with. But for now it was only necessary to stipulate a date to the start of the new reign, and letters missive to that effect were quickly sent out to all parts of the kingdom. What this meant was that after the fourth of March, anyone taking up arms against Edward would be guilty of treason against their lawful King. Of course, the word ‘lawful’ in these circumstances was entirely arbitrary. None knew better than Edward himself that for all the lofty titles he had laid claim to, he was in truth no more than King of London, and that if he were to fall – or fail – London would accept Henry again even if it meant also suffering his Queen.

  Chapter 60

  March 1461 – London

  “Attend, good citizens! Hear the words of our Sovereign Lord, King Edward, fourth of that name!” bawled the town crier at the Standard in Chepe.

  The city that had so narrowly escaped a visitation by the dreaded Scots was in festive mood. The church bells hadn’t stopped ringing, and the town crier, gifted with an enormous voice, had difficulty making himself heard above the general cacophony of one of London’s busiest streets. Ringing his hand bell, he soon had a fair sized crowd assembled to hear the new King’s first proclamation to his people.

  Unrolling a scroll and holding it open between his two hands, he intoned, “He who directs the hearts of princes, by whose disposition we were born to inherit the crowns and royal estate of the realms of England and France and the lordship of Ireland, has caused us to remember the loss of France and the deplorable state of England, the oppression of our people and the crimes committed against them, the decline of commerce, wherein lies the prosperity of all our subjects, and the destruction of justice, the mother of virtue. All of these ills are due to the negligence, ambition and greed of those who had the ruling of the kingdom, and it is to remedy them that we have taken possession of the crowns of England and France. With the aid of the lords of the blood and our true subjects, who are commanded to look upon us as true and just Sovereign Lord, we will do our utmost to restore the two realms to their former fame, honour and prosperity.”

  “His Grace, the new King, may not be as pious as his Grace the old King, but he seems very well-intentioned,” observed the draper, Walter Fletcher.

  “Oh, he is! I knew him when he was in Calais with Warwick, you know,” agreed the fabulously rich merchant, Richard Cely, unaware that his wife had seduced the well-intentioned young Earl of March without any great difficulty.

  “So you keep telling us,” said Fletcher, shooting a glance heavenward.

  “Intentions! Intentions! Isn’t that the stuff the road to hell is paved with?” grumbled Mayor Lee. He could be forgiven his bad temper, as it was well known that his sympathies lay with the old regime and that his had been one of the few voices on the city council to speak in favour of permitting Henry and Margaret to enter the capital. Furthermore, he was about to come face to face with the new King, and while he didn’t fear either for his head or his goods, he doubted it would be a pleasant encounter. Of course, he had enemies and rivals both in business and city politics who would delight in anything that caused him discomfort. He hadn’t slept at all well since March fourth and last night, not at all.

  As Fletcher was about to speak, Lee gestured him to silence in his imperious way so that he could h
ear the rest of the proclamation.

  “It is well known that the Dukes of Exeter and Somerset, the Earls of Northumberland and Devon, Lords Roos, Welles, Neville and sundry others have been moved by the spirit of the Devil to destroy the realm of England and her people. With a great number of violent persons, they are now riding through the country committing many horrible acts: robberies even of churches and houses of religion, from which they take both temporal goods and such dedicated to God as books, chalices, vestments and other ornaments. They also cruelly oppress wives, widows, maidens and even women of religion, and maim and murder with such wanton cruelty as has not been heard done even by the Saracens or Turks to any Christian men.”

  At this point, as the crier paused to gather his breath, a great howling went up from the crowd in recognition of the great disaster spared their city by the courage of the young King in coming so promptly to its rescue. Once the citizens had expressed their grief and outrage anew, the crier continued.

  “For these reasons we are forced to defend our kingdom against the malice of these rebellious and riotous persons; and we call upon every man between the ages of sixteen and sixty, according to the customs and laws of the land, to come to us in his best array to repulse these foreigners, both Frenchmen and Scots, our enemies have brought into the realm