Warwick: The Man Behind The Wars of the Roses

by Tony Riches

  After waiting for half the morning, he was unhappy to be informed that the king was indisposed. Richard asked for an audience with the queen and after more waiting was finally shown to her state rooms. He had expected the French court to be richly decorated. As he was led through long, narrow corridors, Richard noticed that even the royal apartments were simply furnished, with little sign of the extravagance he had seen on visits to Duke Philip of Burgundy.

  Surrounded by her ladies in waiting, Queen Charlotte, the king’s second wife, was almost half the age of her husband and heavily pregnant. Richard knew she had a reputation for easily losing her temper and studied her for a moment, conscious of the need to somehow win her support. The queen’s white dress contrasted with her jet- black hair, most of which was covered by a tall pointed hat in the latest French fashion. She fed morsels of food to a small lap-dog as he watched. Charlotte spoke only in French, so softly that Richard had to strain to hear.

  ‘Earl Warwick, we are honoured to have you in our court.’

  Richard bowed. ‘Thank you, your Highness. I have important matters to discuss with the king, on behalf of King Edward of England.’ Although his French had greatly improved during the time he had been living in Calais, he still felt at a disadvantage.

  The queen regarded him with her piercing blue eyes. ‘The king is going hunting.’ She looked out of the high, arched window to the castle grounds, as if expecting to see him. ‘Sometimes he goes hunting for days, forgetting me and his duties.’

  Richard wasn’t sure how to respond. He had travelled too far to return without something to show for his time, so he tried again. ‘Your sister, the Princess Bona of Savoy. I would like to meet her, if it is possible for that to be arranged?’

  ‘My sister is in Milan.’ The queen stroked her dog absent-mindedly. ‘I can send a message to her for you?’

  ‘Please will you tell her that the King of England is minded to ask for her hand in marriage, to bring together the great houses of York and Valois?’

  ‘My sister would be honoured, I am sure.’ She whispered something to one of her ladies in waiting, who looked at Richard with new interest. ‘We will look forward to the wedding.’

  The doors burst open and King Louis appeared with his entourage. A plain looking well-built man wearing ordinary hunting clothes, Richard recognised him immediately from his bearing. He also noted that the king’s nose was as large as it had been described, although tales of his legs being so thin they could hardly support him were obviously an exaggeration.

  ‘At last we meet, Captain of Calais!’ His voice boomed in the high ceilinged room in heavily accented French.

  Richard bowed. ‘Your Grace, I am here to discuss arrangements for the marriage of King Edward.’

  ‘Good. Princess Bona will make him a fine wife.’ King Louis seemed to consider the matter closed. ‘You will come hunting with me now.’ His words were a statement rather than a question.

  Richard was happy to agree. ‘Of course, Your Grace.’ He turned to Queen Charlotte. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you, your Highness.’

  He followed the king to the stables and was glad to see Tully, grooming their horses.

  ‘I’m going hunting, Tully, for wild boar with the king.’

  Richard felt a great sense of relief as they rode through the wooded French countryside behind the pack of hunting dogs. He hadn’t known what to expect of King Louis yet it had been less difficult than he thought. Now he could return to England secure in the knowledge that he had personally brokered the first meaningful alliance between England and France for over a hundred years.

  King Louis rode up to him. ‘You hunt boar in England, Earl of Warwick?’

  ‘Not for a long time, Your Grace.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve been too busy hunting Queen Margaret of Anjou.’

  The king laughed, understanding the joke. ‘And what will you do when you catch her?’

  Richard grinned. He was glad to have found common ground with the king. ‘I think we’ll send her back to France!’

  The excited barking of the dogs in the woods ahead interrupted his reply.

  The king shouted urgently in French. ‘The dogs have the scent!’ he pointed to his hounds that were barking more loudly now. ‘To the boar!’

  They rode deeper into the woods, ducking to avoid low branches and not slowing even as the forest became more overgrown. The king was a skilled rider and charged ahead without a care for the danger. Richard had not been on a boar hunt for years, as the wars and politics of England had kept him completely preoccupied. The thrill of the chase was exhilarating and he felt young again for the first time in ages.

  The baying of the dogs told them the boar must have been cornered. They rode to where the barking was loudest to see a heavy black boar with large tusks, surrounded by the hounds. It bellowed angrily, pawing the ground and threatening the dogs with its tusks. Now the king turned to Richard.

  ‘It is traditional in France for the guest to finish the boar.’ He gestured with exaggerated generosity. ‘The honour is yours, Earl of Warwick.’

  Richard understood the challenge in the king’s voice. A test, to see if they had anything in common or if Richard was playing a role to secure the alliance. He slid from his saddle and drew his dagger, taking a firm grip on the handle.

  The wild boar charged the hunting dogs, deeply goring one in the flank with its long tusks. Another dog grabbed the boar by the snout, locking its teeth deep into the flesh. With a high pitched squeal of anger and pain the boar made a sudden sweep of its muscular neck and swung the dog high into the air, smashing it hard into the trunk of a tree. Somehow the dog managed to keep its hold and the boar tried again, tiring now. The other dogs joined in the fray, biting and snapping. One tore at the boar's ears, making it even angrier.

  Richard approached the boar warily, knife at the ready. It seemed enormous as he came closer, at least four feet long, with mud caking its coarse black bristles. He knew of men who had been killed by wounded boars. There would not be a second chance if he missed his mark. The boar was roaring now, its eyes glittering with black fury. He lunged forward and struck deep between its front legs, below the base of the neck. A gush of blood showed his blow had been fatal. The boar died instantly as Richard’s sharply pointed blade pierced its heart. He stood back and wiped the blade of his knife, hoping no one would notice how much his hands were shaking.

  One of the hunters called off the dogs. The king slapped him on the back.

  ‘Good kill, Earl of Warwick, good kill.’

  One of the men produced a flask of strong brandy and they passed it round. Richard raised the flask in a salute to his new alliance with the King of France.

  The news hit him like the blow from a war hammer. Edward had secretly married a commoner, Elizabeth Grey, widow of Sir John Grey and the daughter of Lord Rivers. It seemed impossible that such a thing could happen. There had been no discussion, no consultation. Worst of all, he appeared to be one of the last people in the country to have heard about it. Richard could barely control his temper when he was finally granted a private audience with Edward.

  ‘Are you out of your mind, Edward? You are the King of England.’ He struggled to keep his temper. ‘You cannot marry a commoner!’

  Edward looked at him with a stern expression. ‘Mind your manners, Richard. Elizabeth is not a commoner. She is the daughter of Countess Jacquetta of Luxembourg.’

  Richard didn’t answer. He was still reeling from the turn of events. He had always known that Edward had a weakness for the common women who managed to catch his eye. He just couldn’t accept that he had secretly married one of them behind his back, while he had been going to so much trouble to find a suitable match for him in France.

  Edward squared up to Richard. ‘My wife.’ He paused, to give the words emphasis. ‘My wife is the daughter of the widow of the Duke of Bedford, brother of King Henry the fifth.’

  Richard was exasperated. ‘Your wife,’ he stared directly at Edwar
d, ‘was a lady in waiting to Queen Margaret of Anjou.’

  ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Her father, her husband and her brother have fought against us! What would your father have said?’

  Edward looked at his shoes and said nothing.

  Richard continued. ‘You have put the future peace of the country at risk!’

  Edward raised his hand to silence him. ‘How, exactly?’

  Richard raised his voice in exasperation. ‘We need to secure a treaty with the French, to stop them ever supporting Queen Margaret against you.’

  ‘I might not need the French. You have seen to it that there are few Lancastrians left to be concerned about. Anyway, I’m in talks with Burgundy.’

  ‘Burgundy!’ Richard felt a second hammer blow. ‘We agreed that Philip of Burgundy is not to be trusted?’

  Edward seemed surprised. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Don’t know what?’ Richard hardly dared imagine what further surprises Edward had for him. He could see all his hard work unravelling, quicker than he would be able to restore the damage done.

  ‘Philip of Burgundy is handing over to his son Charles. I’ve had people talking to him about marriage to my sister Margaret.’

  Richard was incredulous. ‘He’s already married.’

  Edward frowned. ‘His wife is dying, Richard. My father was planning for him to marry Margaret. He had to marry a Frenchwoman because of some treaty. Once she is dead he’s free to do what he wants.’

  ‘What about all the work I’ve been doing in France? What about our alliance with King Louis?’

  Edward looked disdainful. ‘The man is a peasant, Richard. Surely you’ve seen that?’

  Richard refused to agree. ‘He’s our best hope of peace.’

  ‘The price was too high.’ Edward sounded irritated. ‘You would have had me marry his wife’s ugly sister.’

  Richard knew the meeting was over. There was no point in arguing. Even if he could somehow prove the marriage to Elizabeth invalid, the damage was done. There was not even a hope that Edward would now marry his daughter Isabel. Although she was only thirteen she was almost a woman and attractive enough. He was turning to go when Edward stood and looked at him, an earnest expression on his face that reminded Richard of the younger Edward who had sailed around Lands End with him.

  ‘You need to understand, Richard. I don’t have to put up with a dreadful arranged marriage.’ He put his hand on Richard’s shoulder. ‘I love her. I married Elizabeth because I am in love with her. Nothing else matters.’

  Richard had one more marriage to arrange, the betrothal of his own daughter Margaret. Margaret had gained a good education and fulfilled her mother’s ambition for her to become a lady. Now she was sixteen and ready to be married. His choice was Sir Richard Huddleston, a promising young knight from a respectable Cumbrian family and heir to the Lordship of Millom.

  The morning of Margaret’s wedding was a perfect autumnal day, so he decided to ride alone to the old Norman church of St Michael in Spennithorne, across the meandering River Ure from Middleham Castle. A single bell rang musically, echoing across the Yorkshire dales. Anne and the girls were travelling to the service in a carriage so he waited for them in the peaceful churchyard.

  The tall, square church tower could be seen from Middleham and was one of his favourite places when he needed somewhere quiet to think. His argument with the king troubled him deeply. He would not find it easy to accept the Woodville family and there was a real danger now that France would support Queen Margaret, after all he had done to prevent it.

  Not for the first time, Richard began to wonder what he wanted out of life. He had more money than most men could ever dream of. His lands and properties were so vast he could never hope to visit them all in a single year. He had been Chief Minister, Admiral of the Seas, and Captain of Calais, yet despite it all he still felt unfulfilled.

  A woman’s voice spoke his name and he turned to see Megan, looking almost as he remembered her all those years ago. A jolt from his past. He’d had no contact with her for most of Margaret’s life yet it seemed he had only seen her yesterday. He took her hand in his. She looked beautiful in a flowing cotton dress. Her hair was under a simple hat made from white lace and her eyes still sparkled with the energy he had always found so attractive.

  ‘You look well, Richard.’

  He stood in silence for a moment, lost in recollections of their life together. ‘So do you, Megan.’

  ‘Your daughter has turned out well, don’t you think?’

  Richard looked into her eyes. ‘She is her mother’s daughter.’

  ‘Can you believe it’s been sixteen years?’

  Richard still held her hand. Their close contact felt natural, without a trace of awkwardness. ‘I’ve missed you, Megan.’

  Sadness filled her eyes then she brightened. ‘Margaret seems happy with your choice of husband for her.’

  ‘He’s an honest man. With prospects.’ He looked at her again, amazed at how little she had changed. He noticed she no longer wore the sapphire around her neck. The ring he had given her was now on her finger. Richard struggled to keep his emotions in check.

  ‘I have decided to give them a manor house at Blennerhasset as a wedding present, as well as lands at Penrith with the income from the rents in Coverdale.’

  ‘Thank you. She is to be a lady now, thanks to your mother.’

  Richard remembered. ‘I must thank you for what you did for my mother.’

  Megan looked sad again. ‘She was kind to me.’

  He hesitated to ask the question that formed in his mind as soon as he saw her. ‘And have you also now become a lady?’

  Megan laughed. ‘I don’t usually dress like this, you know.’ She glanced at Middleham Castle in the distance and squeezed his hand absent-mindedly. ‘I moved to York to be closer to Margaret when she came here. I found work as a seamstress.’

  Richard was surprised. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘No. I’ve seen you coming and going and stayed out of the way for Anne’s sake. I never married, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  Richard gave her hand a gentle squeeze back and reluctantly let it slip from his grasp. ‘I would have married you, Megan, if I had been free to do so.’

  She looked across at the church. People were starting to gather outside in the late autumn sunshine. She smiled at him, a twinkle in her eyes. ‘You know, I believe you would have. We must go now, Richard, Earl of Warwick. Your guests are arriving, my lord.’

  He walked with her to the church, not caring what the people would say.

  Chapter 20 - Summer 1465

  Richard was out of the country at trade discussions during the extravagant coronation at Westminster Abbey of Elizabeth Woodville. He knew Edward was simply keeping him out of the way. Almost all the nobility of England were present, with the exception of himself, and his absence had been seen as a sign of his diminishing influence. He was also certain that changes would be made at Westminster while he was away and, to make matters worse, he had been sent to negotiate with the Burgundian merchants who knew he was close to their enemy King Louis of France.

  His wife and his daughters Isabel and Anne made sure he was represented at the coronation ceremony and gave him their detailed impressions of the day. Richard was unsurprised to hear that Elizabeth had succeeded in outshining even the extravagance of the coronation of Margaret of Anjou. Despite his disappointment at the way her marriage had been contrived, he had to admire the new Queen Elizabeth for the skill with which she managed her rapid rise of fortunes.

  The coronation was overshadowed by news on his return that King Henry had been captured at last. His brother John had nearly apprehended the king twelve months before at the battle of Hexham. Henry escaped, leaving behind his personal belongings, including his ceremonial helmet with a gold crown that now graced John’s hallway.

  Despite an extensive search the trail grew cold. They knew the king was being kept in
safe houses by supporters in Cumbria. He was finally spotted at Waddington Hall, the home of the Sheriff of Yorkshire, Sir Richard Tempest. Even then he fled down a secret staircase and almost escaped across the River Ribble until he was captured in the nearby woods.

  Richard immediately saw an opportunity to regain some of his popularity with the people of London. He decided to escort the king from Islington to the Tower. The same people who had once cheered just at the sight of Richard’s standard had short memories. His long absences in Calais and France meant they readily believed untrue stories put about by his enemies. Being seen to bring King Henry back to London would help restore his popular image.

  He arrived at the manor house in Islington where the king was being held and found him with two doctors, who seemed concerned about the king’s health. Richard was shocked at the physical change in King Henry, who had grown an unkempt beard which was turning grey. Worse still was the king’s mental state. He regarded Richard with a curious expression, apparently unaware of who he was or the reason for his visit.

  The king was seated on a small horse, his feet tied to the stirrups with leather thongs and a rope tied around his middle to prevent him falling from the saddle. A straw hat was placed on his head and the procession made its way through the city. People jeered as he rode through the dirty streets to his prison. Richard had a hundred guards as escort to ensure that it didn’t get out of hand. As well as the risk of some Lancastrian sympathisers attempting to rescue the king, there was almost as great a danger of someone attempting to assassinate him, the feelings ran so high.

  One man ran into the street and shouted into the king’s face.

  ‘Usurper!’

  King Henry sat upright on his small horse and shouted back at the man in an unexpectedly confident voice. ‘My father was King of England!’ He looked around as if aware of his surroundings for the first time. ‘He was peacefully possessed of the crown for the whole of his life.’