“It is our wish and command that no one, on pain of death or forfeiture, should give any aid or comfort to our adversary, calling himself Henry VI or his adherents, or obey any message or proclamation coming from him. Also, on pain of death or forfeiture, we forbid any man to rob another, or take from the church, or clergy, or deflower or oppress any woman, or do any hurt to another.
“Grace and pardon of life and goods will be granted to any adherent of the former King who tenders his submission within ten days, with the exception of twenty-two men named below and all other persons having land or tenements to the value of a hundred marks or more a year.”
“A merciful prince,” was Cely’s verdict as the crier began to read the names of those outside the King’s favour, and the three men turned in the direction of the Guildhall, where the new King was to be feted that day by the town dignitaries.
“When it comes to merciful princes, Henry can have no peer!” objected the mayor but in a low voice so that any passerby wouldn’t overhear.
“Which is why Lord Bonvile and the other gentleman who had him in their keeping at St. Albans were later put to death,” said Cely with some asperity.
“That had nothing to do with Henry, as you know!”
“Quite. Neither did the looting of St. Albans, nor the pillaging of Peterborough, Stamford and Huntingdon. Nothing has to do with Henry. Of what use is a king who cannot rule his wife, let alone his lords or his council?”
“No use to anyone,” said Fletcher.
“Surely you will agree that Edward will make a better king than Margaret – oh, pardon me! I meant Henry. An understandable slip in the circumstances,” Cely needled.
“He might. Or he might not,” the mayor conceded. “That’s part of the trouble. We don’t know him. We don’t know what kind of man he is. I’ve apprentices older than him, who have been training with me for years that I wouldn’t trust with a counter at the Thursday Market!” Mayor Lee paused, then spoke again just as Fletcher was about to. “You can’t do a good job without having some sort of training. What training has he had? Tell me that?”
Cely snorted. “Given that Henry was educated by Cardinal Beaufort – a statesman par excellence, love him or loathe him – and has been King nigh on forty years and made a hash of everything, maybe that’s not such a bad thing!”
“I could forgive our new King a good deal if only he were able to improve trade,” the draper said rather wistfully. “Like opening new markets to English cloth and breaking the stranglehold the Flemings have on the trade.”
Mayor Lee nodded. Even he couldn’t disagree with that.
Cely smiled at them both. “My friends, he is young, energetic, intelligent and interested! Yes, it may be hard to believe, but when we were in Calais, he showed considerable interest in the cloth and wool trades. That’s one of the things that impressed me most about him: how genuinely interested he was in commerce. You wouldn’t expect that from a young nobleman, now would you?”
As the handsome edifice of the Guildhall on Cornhill came into view, the mayor said dolefully, “Is there any hope? Will he be forgiving?”
“Do you intend to mention those loans?” asked Cely.
Lee reared back in horror. “Blessed saints, no! I’d sooner repay them from my own purse than mention them at this point.”
“And if he should ask for another?”
The mayor gave a heartfelt groan. He had taken office on All Saints Day, so he wasn’t halfway through his term. “Was ever a mayor beset by such calamitous upheavals as I’ve had to face? He wouldn’t do that, would he?”
“He might,” said Fletcher comfortably.
“He will,” Cely said with certainty.
The mayor groaned again. “Then I suppose we have no choice but to accommodate him.”
“In that case, I think he may be forgiving,” said Cely, as he went through the arched portal into the Guildhall. He and Fletcher had always been for the Duke of York on the simple principle that sound government was good for trade. They had nothing about which to be nervous.
Before the feasting began and the mayor and aldermen, supported by a number of prominent citizens, begged the new King to confirm their ancient charters, he spoke warmly to the citizens and thanked them for holding ‘his’ beloved city against the depredations of the Northmen. But for the mayor and aldermen whose loyalty was built on shifting sands, was as fickle as a false-hearted woman, he decided it was necessary to flex his royal muscles a little. Although a new mayor was in office now, many of the aldermen were the same men as when he had returned from Calais the previous year and had vacillated about allowing Warwick to enter London. And although he well knew Mayor Lee’s political proclivities, he didn’t direct his censure at the mayor alone but spoke to the whole body.
“It is not my wish to trespass on the rights and privileges that you have enjoyed under my predecessors and which, for the sake of my loyal subjects, I am pleased to confirm. However, I want it understood that when I leave to pursue my enemies, who are also your enemies, I expect the governing body of my capital to be faithful, firm and obedient in my absence. You have not always been so. I will not recite your offences here. I’ll only warn you there must be no more. Give me your loyalty, and you’ll find me not ungenerous in return.”
Having shown them the mailed fist, during the lavish dinner the guilds had provided in his honour, he set about calming their fears, assuring them that their concerns would forever be in the forefront of his mind, as London was as dear to him as it was to them. Which was true. Already he loved the lively, bawdy, dirty, colourful and profane city that had taken him to her heart, as an old whore might welcome a wandering sailor. And he touched upon certain matters as justice and trade, finance and the French to show that although he was young, he was not ignorant, and to give them some idea of what kind of King he meant to be. Certainly, he didn’t intend to take King Henry as a role model. He wanted to be involved. In fact, during his reflections since that momentous day at Chipping Norton, Edward had come to the rather surprising conclusion that in government he could find no better role model than his father.
Like Richard Lee, some of the magistrates had entered the Guildhall under a cloud of apprehension, not knowing what to expect from this unknown youth who had sent ten men to their deaths without batting an eyelash. They went away a little happier and on the whole vastly relieved. Even an ardent Lancastrian like the mayor privately resolved to suspend judgment. None had dared mention all the loans they had made and all the money that was owed them, but of the generosity the King had spoken of there was no sign when two days later Cely’s prediction came to pass. Edward presented before them yet another request for yet another loan, this one for the princely sum of four thousand pounds. There was no need for debate on the matter. They were pleased to grant it and felt they’d got off rather lightly.
Chapter 61
March 1461 – Thorpe Waterfield
After Warwick’s defeat, following so closely upon her father’s death, Anne of Exeter had surrendered to the belief that her brother would soon be dead, her house defeated and in ruins, never to rise again. So when the first news came, out of the mouth of a servant from Coldharbour, who had been there at St. John’s field to witness those events, she had been stunned. Literally stunned, dizzy, weak, unable to settle to anything, hardly able to function, experiencing an odd mixture of joy and trepidation at the same time. And then the later news came, again brought by an eyewitness, who had followed in the crowd of Londoners and seen Edward’s going in and his coming out of the abbey for his coronation. It took some getting used to, the fact that her brother was now the King.
There was no jubilation at Thorpe Waterfield, or only in secret on Anne’s part. What Eleanor and Jane thought of these proceedings she didn’t ask, and they didn’t confide. The rest of the household was unequivocal. The new King was not to be styled such but must be called Edward of York or the Earl of March. Henry was the King, Margaret was the Queen, and any
slip of a servile tongue was likely to be severely punished. In spite of her husband’s choices, Anne was devoted to the house that had bred and nurtured her, and in her mind and heart, Henry and Margaret were already deposed, relegated to minor status. In Northampton, a town not lying athwart Margaret’s path of destruction but close enough that the townsfolk had trembled in fear and looked to their defences, she had heard the former sovereign referred to as the Earl of Derby. Not even Duke of Lancaster, because that huge and wealthy dukedom was now an appurtenance of the Crown. In her thoughts, the imperious Margaret had since become the Countess of Derby, a title that rendered her trivial and irrelevant. It was a small satisfaction.
Four days after learning of her brother’s abbreviated coronation, Anne was sitting in a recessed window seat applying herself to a rent in the armhole of a gown her daughter was growing out of when she glanced through the window and saw an extraordinary sight. That morning a scullery maid had been sent to fetch eggs from the wife of the miller whose industrious hens always laid a surplus, which she sold in the neighbourhood. Now the girl was running back along the stretch of road between the woodlands and the manor gates as if Satan and his minions were pursuing her. Her skirts were plastered to her labouring legs, her hair streaming loose from its cap, her feet sending up little sprays from the waterlogged road every time they came down, her mouth open in a series of unheard screams. The woven basket was still over her arm, bumping against her hips. Any eggs in it would be scrambled.
Pursued she was. From under the trees emerged a man, dashing after her; then two, four, seven, eight, all chasing her, all armed in some manner or other. Being in her bedchamber at the time, Anne didn’t bother struggling with the latch on the window, but clutched her skirts in both hands and ran out of the room, down the stairs, and across the hall to the door.
“Close the gates!” she shouted to those on duty.
The scullery maid flew through them, her face a study in terror, shrieking and babbling about being chased all the way from Trout Beck. The guards were heaving at the creaking gate, and the pursuers were closing fast when one of them yelled: “Succour, for the love of God!” And one of the guards hesitated long enough to allow him to slip through the gap.
“I told you to close the gate!” Anne screamed, but it was too late.
Roughly shouldering the guard aside, the man held the gate for his friends who were close behind. Another slipped through and then another. Soon they were all inside, twelve desperate looking men, all armed and wearing odd pieces of armour. Beyond them, another group of armed men, a larger group, were swarming down the road. The new arrivals were quick to help the guards complete their orders, and the two leaves of the gate thudded together before the second group could reach them.
Anne was rooted to the spot in the doorway. She didn’t know who they were, either friend or foe; only that instinct told her they were trouble. One good thing: none had drawn a weapon. “Who are you?” she demanded angrily.
One of them moved toward her, his hands raised, palms forward, a smile plastered on his stubbled face. He was wearing a sword at his hip, a battered cuirass and an old-fashioned basin-like helm that had probably seen service at Agincourt. He seemed vaguely familiar to Anne, but she was unable to place him or put a name to him.
“Thomas Tunstall, at your service, my lady.”
He spoke in cultured accents and executed a courtly bow. Anne was now able to identify him as the brother of Henry’s chamberlain, Sir Richard Tunstall. When he had been presented to her at court, he instantly put her in mind of a ferret, with his small bright eyes and long pointed nose, which had an unfortunate tendency to twitch and sniffle without its owner’s conscious volition. Although he was a gentleman, he had not yet won his silver spurs, and nor had any among the ragged lot with him.
“Quiet!” Anne shouted at the scullery wench, now in the arms of the cook and still babbling hysterically, who promptly subsided into whiny sniffles. It seemed everyone in the manor had congregated in the courtyard to find out what was going on. The steward, Andrew Spooner, was standing at Anne’s side, Eleanor on her other side. The guards were watchful but made no move toward the intruders. Faces jammed the kitchen door.
She turned back to Tunstall. “Why were you chasing my girl?”
“We weren’t chasing her exactly, Madam,” Tunstall said twitchily. “We just happened to be running in the same direction, is all. You see, we got cut off from the main army when we went off ah… scouting, and ran afoul of some Coventry lads off to join the enemy. We had a bit of a fight with them, but we were outnumbered and forced in the end to withdraw. We were running in this direction when the wench just happened to cross our path, and then we saw the manor and hoped we’d found safety. If you turn us away, Madam, we’re dead men for sure.”
Anne wasn’t sure that was an exaggeration. The great lords had certainly reached the point where the cutting off of heads was the only recourse, but generally, those of lesser degree didn’t harbour that kind of deadly malice and were far more likely to settle their differences by haggling over the amount of ransom and then sharing a cup of ale. At least that’s the way things used to be done. However, the behaviour of Margaret’s army had ignited the virulent hatred of people from all walks of life. She could not be sure that if she turned them out these men wouldn’t be butchered.
There came a hammering on the gate, and a muffled voice called out, “Open up in there! You’re harboring dangerous felons! Open up at once!”
“Madam, I implore you,” said a very young lad among the twelve, looking badly frightened.
Her steward, Exeter’s man to the marrow, said, “I’m sure the Duke would wish us to succour these worthy fellows and to offer them the hospitality of this house, Madam.”
“After all, we’re all on the same side here,” Tunstall said winningly, and then his small bright eyes fixed on Anne and hardened. “Isn’t that so, Madam?”
“Give the order that those outside are not to be admitted,” she said and heard her words transferred to the guards, one of who ran up a short stair to a stone block that allowed him to look down on those outside the gate.
There was no help for it. Sister to the new King she might be, but a wife was expected to espouse the loyalties of her husband and make every effort to see that his cause prospered without regard for her own feelings. In fact, she wasn’t supposed to have feelings about such matters, the province of men. “You and your friends are welcome, Master Tunstall,” she said without warmth. “I wonder if you have any idea how long you will be staying. I wouldn’t wish my home to be turned into a battleground. You understand?”
“Madam is gracious. We will be out of here as soon as it is safe to do so. And in the meantime, we’ll do our best to keep out of your way. If any of my men trespass on your Grace’s tranquillity, be assured he will be punished severely.”
“Very well.” Turning away, Anne said to her steward, “Come with me, please, Master Spooner.” Inside the hall, away from the intruders, she turned to him coldly. “I am not happy with this situation at all. This is my home, my daughter’s home, and these men have brought turmoil and very possibly danger into it. And I have no doubt that they belong to that group of marauders that has been terrorising the neighbourhood. Scouting, indeed! I wonder how many churches they have plundered, how many innocents they have slaughtered.”
“How can you say so, Madam?” asked the steward, who didn’t like his mistress any more than she liked him. “The poor fellows are hardly weighed down by stolen goods. In fact, they have nothing but their weapons.”
“Only because they were put to flight by those Coventry lads,” said Anne with conviction. “However, I see I have no choice but to put up with them. Have the kitchen prepare food and drink, but ale only, no wine, and only in moderate quantities. I want no drunkenness. They may come into the hall at night to sleep but only if they are quiet and well behaved. During the day they must remain outside. Have a latrine pit dug for their use on
the far side of the stables. And understand this, Master Spooner, if there is trouble, I shall lay it to your account. That is all.”
Stiff-backed, she walked away, up the stairs to her bedchamber, where she intended to remain as much as possible while her brother’s enemies were in her house. She hurried to the window and looked out in time to see the other group disappearing into the trees. Whoever they were she hoped they would stay away. The best she could hope for was that in a couple of days Tunstall would deem the area quiet enough for him and his cronies to slip away and disappear.
In the meantime, it appeared they were following her instructions, and her steward reported no incidents.
……….
Three days after this Anne was sitting in the same window seat looking down on the courtyard and trying to do a headcount. It had not passed her notice that clandestine comings and goings had resulted in new faces appearing and a proliferation of her unwelcome guests. The trouble was they wouldn’t keep still; one would go from her line of vision or another would enter, and once or twice she found herself counting someone who turned out to be one of her servants. Finally, she had a count but was so startled that she counted again. Twenty-five the first time, twenty-seven the second. It was intolerable.
At that moment Eleanor entered the room. “Get me Spooner!” Anne hissed, at the same time that Eleanor said, “Those awful men are in the hall.”
“What!”
She sprang from her seat, strode to the door, hurried down the stairs and erupted into the great hall, where, aside from those she had counted outside, another half dozen were grouped around the meagre fire, several of them having pulled up stools or chairs to make themselves comfortable. Some had goblets in their hands. She knew her staff better than to believe any of them would serve ale in goblets. They paid no attention to Anne, who had emerged at the other end of the hall and was moving toward them like a sleepwalker, her fists clenched as tight as her jaw. There was a sudden burst of hilarity. One man laughed so hard he fell off his stool. Another put a finger to his lips and shushed them loudly before looking furtively around. He was the first to see her. He nudged his neighbour, who passed the nudge on until the whole group had fallen silent. Those who had their backs to her didn’t look round, and those who were seated didn’t trouble to rise. Except Tunstall who rose from the master’s chair, removed from the dais.
This Sun of York Page 54
