by Nigel Green
Two days later I heard the news that I expected. There had been wholesale desertions. Buckingham’s army had imploded and was no longer an effective fighting unit.
Satisfied I turned my attention to dealing with the English rebels.
In truth, there was not much to finish. Devoid of Buckingham’s army, the southern revolts fizzled out. Buckingham himself was betrayed by one of his own retainers and was executed. Henry Tudor, arriving late, sailed disconsolately back to Brittany. Richard was triumphant.
Working in comparative harmony, Catesby, Ratcliffe and I established a strategy to build on our king’s success. Loyal supporters were rewarded with crown posts, as now there were more than sufficient to satisfy those who had proven loyal. Others received lands, since naturally all of Buckingham’s estates fell to the king. Predictably, the king’s most powerful supporters, Northumberland and Stanley, received the lion’s share but Richard’s followers had no cause to complain of their spoils.
With all opposition swept aside, the parliament that formed to justify Richard’s title as king in the following January was merely a formality and, with his title fully authorised, Richard was wholly on the ascendant. Certainly the Woodvilles believed so; in March of that year Elizabeth led her daughters out of sanctuary and bowed to the inevitable.
Whether King Edward’s widow simply despaired of Henry Tudor ever replacing Richard as king or she had just suffered sufficiently in her cramped and uncomfortable quarters in sanctuary will never be known. For whatever reason though, she reached an agreement with the king and, in return for a pension and promises of suitable marriages for her daughters, she surrendered to Richard. With that, all opposition against him ended.
Gradually, we strengthened our grip on England. The South of the country was an obvious weak area for us. Almost half the sheriffs and many of those holding crown posts had been involved in Buckingham’s revolt. Consequently, they needed to be replaced; as such faithful men from the North were sent to fill those positions of authority.
How successful this proved was hard to say. Our men were not readily accepted by the local landowners. They were not from the area and did not know it as the locals did. There were no ties of friendship to integrate them into these communities. Richard had called on me to establish myself in a similar way as he wanted me to build up a power base in the Thames Valley. But I had no desire to settle there; my home was in the North and I imagined others who had come south felt the same.
But still we tried to build support for the king. The London merchants were courted – they did not love Richard as they loved King Edward, but they were to prove a useful source of revenue. Richard’s own family members were used to trying to build up territorial influence. His bastard daughter’s husband, Huntington, was given lands in Wales. In an effort to reduce the influence of the loyal, albeit over-powerful, Earl of Northumberland, Richard’s nephew, John of Lincoln, was dispatched to head up the Council of the North, which was finally established in July.
With opposition at home crushed and Henry Tudor an impotent imposter languishing in Brittany, victory was ours.
Soon though, dark clouds gathered to cover the brilliant sun. In April, Richard’s young son died unexpectedly. His death drove both parents into paroxysms of grief, exacerbated by the fact that he was an only child. There were unkind people who whispered that the boy’s death was simply the vengeance of the Lord. The tragedy seemed to mark a turning point in our fortunes as, unless Anne Neville could produce another heir, Richard’s dynasty was doomed.
Across the Channel too, Henry Tudor was slowly beginning to develop as a potential alternative. Further to the failure of the Buckingham revolt, a number of influential southern rebels had joined him. It had been to this crowd of supporters that Henry Tudor had promised that when he became King of England he would marry Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of the late King Edward.
Of course, we made every effort to force Brittany to surrender Henry Tudor, but neither diplomacy nor bribery worked and somehow word of our best plan leaked out and Tudor fled to France.
‘It’s all turning out very badly,’ I told Nan on one of my hurried visits. ‘Pressure is mounting on us as Tudor builds up quite a credible court in exile. Meanwhile, if you believe the gossip, rather a lot of people are beginning to favour the union between Tudor and King Edward’s daughter.’
‘I suppose they believe that it would unite the Houses of York and Lancaster forever,’ she mused aloud. ‘Then again, the murder of the poor princes has rekindled the love that people had for King Edward. All his former supporters would be keen to have his daughter as their queen, even if it meant accepting Henry Tudor as their king.’
I nodded gloomily; I was beginning to believe that many people in the South detested our regime so much that they would back anyone to force Richard from the throne. Nan saw my expression and gently stroked my hand.
‘Is my cousin Anne any better?’ she asked gently. ‘I fear for her because she has not responded to either of my letters.’
‘Her illness has been troubling her…’
‘What form does it take?’ Nan demanded.
‘It’s reported to be wasting sickness. She tires easily; she is short of breath and has lost a great deal of weight.’
It was an understatement, but I did not want to upset Nan. The truth was that the immensely vibrant Anne Neville was slowing down. All her strength and vitality were being used to fight her illness.
‘Dr Hobbys and the other physicians swear that in time she will recover,’ I added reassuringly.
We needed her well again, I thought despairingly. It was not simply that Richard needed her guidance, but for peace and security the country needed an heir to the throne. For as Ratcliffe had pointed out grimly, given the choice between Henry Tudor and a young Yorkist wife, and King Richard without an heir, most men would opt for Tudor.
‘I’m sure Anne will recover soon,’ I said confidently.
But I was wrong. Gradually that indomitable will that had built Richard up in the North began to fail and the fiery spirit that had secured the crown for him started to burn less brightly.
She was rarely seen these days and devoid of her advice Richard was at a loss until, seemingly effortlessly, Ratcliffe moved in to fill the power vacuum that Anne Neville’s illness had created.
For my part, I was indifferent to Ratcliffe’s rise to power. Certainly he was as ambitious as ever, but what mattered at this critical time was that we all supported Richard in his hour of need. Catesby publicly concurred with this viewpoint. However, such was his own ambition that he secretly resented his rival’s rise to the top and continually sought to find a way to oust him.
That Christmas in 1484 he almost succeeded. He went privately to the king and proposed a course of action which, I believe, might have found favour with Richard. I can recall Ratcliffe’s anger as he explained it to me. The plan was a simple one.
Despite the carefully managed public appearances of Anne, it was becoming apparent to everyone that she was extremely ill. Indeed, such was her condition that Richard had been urged by the doctors to shun his wife’s bed. Under the circumstances, Anne Neville was clearly not going to produce an heir. Equally there was the strong possibility that Henry Tudor would invade next year and, due to his promise to marry King Edward’s daughter Elizabeth, he would gain support from many former Yorkists. Catesby’s solution was to deny Tudor this support and, instead transfer it to the king. On the death of Anne, Richard – not Henry Tudor – would marry Elizabeth, his brother’s eldest daughter. The more Catesby worked on his plan, the more attractive it seemed to him. With Elizabeth married to Richard, not only would Henry Tudor lose the Yorkist support that the marriage would have brought him but Richard gained it. The South of England would be satisfied now that King Edward’s daughter was on the throne. It would also stop the harmful rumours about the fate of the young princes, King Edward’s sons. After all, while people might assume Richard had killed them, the m
arriage would make them reconsider their views. Surely no female would willingly marry the murderer of her two brothers!
Ratcliffe was uncertain as to how Catesby had managed to persuade King Edward’s widow, Elizabeth Woodville, to agree to the scheme, but he was shrewd enough to make an accurate guess.
‘She would see it as a way to rebuild her own family’s power base,’ he observed. ‘It would not only give her the prestige and influence she’s always sought but, of course, it would enable her eldest son, Dorset, to return to England.’
‘And with her eldest daughter as queen, Elizabeth Woodville makes her family into a force again.’
‘Which is exactly what that scheming bitch wants!’ Ratcliffe said bitterly. ‘In such a scenario, the king gets an immensely popular – not to mention fertile – young wife and Henry Tudor is denied all the support such a marriage would have brought him. Furthermore, Elizabeth Woodville dances on the grave of Anne Neville and returns to power. Her daughter, of course, gets the crown she craves and Catesby will have negotiated his own position in this arrangement.’
His face fell.
‘And will, of course, ensure that I am excluded.’
I ignored his selfishness.
‘But are you really sure that the daughter is as keen as her mother on the marriage?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Haven’t you seen how much yarrow she’s carrying!’ Ratcliffe snorted, ‘She’s practically wreathed in dried flowers these days25. Don’t be fooled by those simple fresh-faced looks, Francis. She’s as cunning as the fox in the Aesop’s Fables she’s always reading. She has every intention of becoming queen, and why should she wait for Henry Tudor? He might not invade or he might invade and be beaten.’
I leapt to my feet.
‘I’ll go and see Richard immediately. He must be made to see that he is being manipulated and what he is contemplating is completely wrong.’
Ratcliffe raised a hand to stop me.
‘Just wait a moment, Francis, before you rush off. We face powerful adversaries all with vested interests in this proposed marriage. Let us plan our strategy to prevent it carefully.’
For a fleeting moment I thought of leaving; I would return to Nan and the clean air of the North. I would go away from this sordid court full of sin and greed. Let Richard fend for himself.
Ratcliffe watched me closely.
‘You won’t help him if you don’t oppose this marriage, Francis. If you are loyal to him, you’ll help me stop it.’
I wanted to go, but he was right.
It was a vicious power struggle that was fought out between Catesby and Ratcliffe in the opening part of 1485. It was a war without weapons fought in the battlefield of a palace against a backdrop of a dying queen and a faltering king.
Initially the tactics used by both sides were predictable. Both parties attempted to justify their positions on the proposed marriage through judicious use of the scriptures. But that proved inconclusive, with both parties claiming victory over the appropriate section of Leviticus.26
After this stalemate, Catesby moved onto the offensive. The benefits of the marriage for Richard and the country were carefully dissembled. Ratcliffe counterattacked by using my influence in the North and, on my return, I was pleased to tell him that not only was there a total repugnance to the idea, but men objected very strongly to anyone taking the place of Anne Neville, daughter of their beloved Earl of Warwick, in Richard’s affections.
But all these arguments caused rifts among Richard’s followers at the very time when we needed to be unified to face the threat from Henry Tudor. The Woodvilles must have recognised this too, as they proposed a meeting to resolve our differences.
Two days later Ratcliffe and I met with Catesby.
To Catesby, Henry Tudor posed a very real threat, but only, he emphasised, if Tudor could count on the support that would come to him from those disaffected Yorkists who wanted him to marry King Edward’s daughter.
‘Sheer common sense tells us that if she marries her uncle, King Richard, Henry Tudor cannot invade,’ Catesby concluded. ‘So may I ask why you two oppose the marriage?’
‘It’s a sin,’ Ratcliffe said simply.
Catesby raised his eyebrows.
‘That is a very definitive answer, isn’t it? Even when our clerics and divines debated the matter they could not agree with one another. All right, suppose for a moment that I agree with you. I can still show you how the wrongdoing might be mitigated by the good it produces.’
‘Go on,’ said Ratcliffe dubiously.
‘Well, if Richard does not marry his niece, we all agree that Tudor will invade, don’t we?’ Catesby continued. ‘So there will be war.’
We nodded, and satisfied, Catesby leant back and placed his fingertips together.
‘But then suppose Richard does marry his niece? There will, of course, then be no invasion by Tudor and consequently no battles, no killings, nor any widows and orphans.’
It was not an argument I had heard before and, for a few tempting seconds, I almost accepted it, but then I shook my head. Catesby looked amazed.
‘But why do you still object, Francis?’
‘Because you are causing Richard to sin!’
‘The political realities of the situation make that inevitable,’ Catesby retorted. ‘Through this marriage, which, I repeat, though sinful brings good along with it, Richard retains his throne.’
‘But it’s wrong.’
‘Oh stop being so hypocritical, Francis!’
I blinked in bewilderment.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well you accuse me of leading Richard into sin, but if I am, then I am only following your example!’ Catesby snapped. ‘After all, just think back to your time in the North and tell me what you did to help Richard every time he and Anne Neville were threatened politically.’
‘I tried to protect them!’
‘Very commendable,’ purred Catesby, ‘but the trouble, of course, was that your notion of protecting Richard always seemed to involve the slaughter of large numbers of people. Indeed, it might be said that you proved incapable of helping Richard and Anne without killing people on a wholesale basis.’
I sat stunned.
‘And you were pretty indiscriminate about the deaths,’ Catesby continued inexorably. ‘It didn’t matter to you how many Scots and French were murdered provided Richard benefitted politically, did it?’
He paused and looked down at the table.
‘And there were the English too, weren’t there, Francis?’
‘What English?’ I asked shakily.
‘Your own troops who died in battle,’ Catesby said gently. You were responsible for their deaths in the same way that you were for those of your enemies.’
His green eyes met mine.
‘It does not seem to have occurred to you that every death that you caused directly or indirectly was a sin which at Judgement Day will be laid not just at your door but also at Richard’s.’
He turned to face Ratcliffe.
‘Richard knew about the lies and calumnies you spread on his behalf and the men whose reputations you so maliciously slandered, so he is guilty of those too.’
Catesby had us spellbound by now and he knew it, so we sat silently while he continued.
‘Both of you have already carried out more hellish deeds on Richard’s behalf than I intend to, so how on earth can you two hypocrites object to the marriage on moral grounds? You might agree, of course, that all of your actions were designed to help and protect Richard. You could say that you were merely fulfilling your roles to the best of your abilities, and if, at times, you committed sins and caused Richard to err, it was regrettable, but still a political necessity.’
He drew a deep breath.
‘If you argue that way, it would be complete double standards to reject my marriage plan for Richard and his niece. What is the difference between what I am doing for Richard now and what you two sanctimonious bastards have
already done for him?’
The vehemence of Catesby’s attack had shaken me badly. Hurtful though it was, I could not fault his logic.
‘Could we move away from the moral side of the marriage?’ Ratcliffe said meekly. ‘It is possible that you have a point, but there is the political aspect that needs to be considered.’
Sensing a pragmatic ally, Catesby gestured expansively.
‘By all means, Sir Richard, I would welcome your views.’
I listened distractedly as Ratcliffe spoke of the danger from the North, as I sensed that there was something wrong in Catesby’s argument. The trouble was that I could not identify it.
‘How many people live in the North?’ Ratcliffe interrupted my thoughts.
‘Only about one in five, I think.’
Catesby chuckled delightedly.
‘So you see, my dear Ratcliffe, that even if all the people in the North oppose the marriage, they will be powerless against the rest of England. Furthermore, as you so shrewdly pointed out, they have no leader.’
The discussion between Ratcliffe and Catesby drifted onto the Papal approval which would be required for the marriage of two people so closely connected. I returned to Catesby’s words; I was convinced that there was a flaw in his argument, but I could not make out what it was.
‘When the Woodvilles return to power after the marriage they will seek revenge on Francis and me,’ I overheard Ratcliffe say.
Catesby’s genial laugh filled the little room.
‘So that’s what has been really worrying you, Ratcliffe! Have no fear on that score. Agree to the marriage and there will be no reprisals against either of you.’
‘And my lands?’ Ratcliffe demanded.
‘You’ll keep them all,’ Catesby reassured him.
‘And my position in government?’
Catesby shrugged regretfully.
‘The Woodvilles will want their own people in power.’
