Warwick: The Man Behind The Wars of the Roses

by Tony Riches

  Richard turned in the saddle to speak to George. ‘How is the mood in London?’

  ‘London is awash with rumours. Nobody knows what to believe.’

  ‘So how is the king responding to these rumours?’

  George shrugged. ‘Edward is the same as ever. Nothing seems to worry him, even rumours of assassins on their way from France. Although he is angry with you about the fall of Brittany.’

  Richard already knew. There was no way he could possibly send archers to support the Duke of Brittany in a fight against King Louis. Fortunately the opportunity had passed, as the duke had reached an amicable agreement with France, much to Edward’s displeasure.

  ‘Has Edward heard that Margaret of Anjou is gathering a fleet at Harfleur?’

  ‘Yes. He ordered Lord Scales to patrol the Channel and keep our shores safe.’

  ‘That should keep at least one Woodville busy for a while, before he learns the truth.’

  George was quick to understand. ‘There is no French fleet?’

  ‘No. It is an unfortunate mistake. I understand the weather in the Channel is most unfavourable this time of year.’ Richard smiled at George. ‘I don’t envy Lord Scales his task.’

  ‘There is concern at how it’s taking money meant to fund the invasion.’

  Richard was unsurprised. ‘That money will be needed at home soon.’

  They reached the beaters with the dogs in a field at the edge of the woods and stopped to put on thick leather gauntlets. The trained peregrine falcons were handed to them and looked around with bright intelligence in their curious eyes as their hoods were removed. Richard felt the powerful grip of the bird’s talons as it clung to his gauntlet. He held it high, careful not to startle his horse, the leather jesses securely held in his hand.

  On Richard’s signal, the beaters entered the woods to flush out game birds. He could hear the muffled sound of their dogs yapping excitedly, searching through the dense trees. He continued riding around the edge of the field at a slower pace, George at his side. Richard could tell George was an experienced falconer, his keen eyes already scanning the sky in anticipation.

  A fat wood pigeon came flying out of the trees. Richard held tight to his falcon’s tether, allowing George the satisfaction of the first kill. He watched as George’s peregrine soared into the air after the flapping pigeon, swooping over the field to catch up with its prey. The pigeon saw the danger, putting on an impressive burst of speed in its bid to escape the grasping claws and savage beak.

  George shouted to his bird as it set off in pursuit, then looked disappointed as the wood pigeon disappeared back into the trees. Two more wood pigeons flew out as the beaters progressed through the woods. Richard loosed his falcon, spurring his horse into a canter to keep the birds in view. There was a clash of feathers as the falcon grabbed its prey and dropped to the ground to make the kill. They watched the head of the peregrine stab down and rise again with a morsel of red flesh in its sharp beak.

  Luke Tully emerged from the cover of the trees and shouted from behind them. ‘Well done, my lord.’

  Richard smiled. It felt good to forget the intrigue of London for a while. ‘I was lucky.’

  They all continued to watch the progress of George’s falcon, which was determined not to give in. They rode closer, in time to see it turn in flight and head for one of the other birds. Folding back its wings the peregrine dived. This time the arrow-like hawk was faster than the pigeon, with deadly results. There was a squawk from the wood pigeon, the last sound it would make.

  George was pleased. ‘A good falcon, Richard. I knew it could do it!’

  Richard grinned. ‘All it needed was a little encouragement.’

  George appreciated the joke. ‘The thing is, Earl Warwick, are you the falcon or the pigeon?’

  Richard was surprised at George’s clever reply. ‘Always the hawk, Duke Clarence. The pigeons fly for their lives, yet the hawk will always live to fight another day!’

  As they rode back to the castle George recalled their earlier discussion. ‘The merchants of London are unhappy that there are no concessions with Burgundy, despite my sister’s marriage.’ He looked across at Richard quizzically. ‘It’s as if someone is stirring up their discontent.’

  Richard had good connections with the merchants. It was easy enough to remind them of Edward’s promises. It had got a little out of hand, with talk of a riot, although no one could put the blame for that on him.

  George continued, not seeming to need an answer. ‘Is it true the French have equipped Jasper Tudor with ships to attack from the West?’

  Richard was not ready to admit how well informed he was about the actions of the French. ‘If it’s true, that will give Lord Herbert something to think about, instead of spending all his time worrying about spies.’

  George turned to him. ‘You know they are going to set up a Royal Commission to look into the allegations Lord Herbert has uncovered?’

  Richard felt a chill premonition. He had taken great risks sending letters to King Louis, more than enough to raise the suspicion of any commission. The last time he had been summoned to Westminster to face questions from a Royal Commission he barely escaped with his life.

  George seemed to sense a change in Richard’s mood and laughed. ‘Don’t you know? My brother has decided that the best person to oversee this commission is me, with you at my side.’

  Richard could hardly believe his luck. ‘I am grateful to you, George. Am I right in thinking you suggested this?’

  George looked pleased with himself. ‘Edward was glad to have the matter taken out of his hands. I thought we could use it to build support. Some of those accused by Lord Herbert would be grateful for a pardon.’

  Richard smiled. ‘I’m sure they will, George.’

  Chapter 24 - Summer 1469

  The masts of Richard’s flagship, Trinity, dominated the bustling shipyard on the banks of the River Stour near the town of Sandwich. Richard was inspecting her with Lord Wenlock, who had been helping oversee the work. Luke Tully followed them at a respectful distance. Tully had fought on board Trinity as much as any man and had a keen interest in the improvements. He knew Richard had been personally involved in every detail of her building. She was the symbol of his successful domination of the seas.

  Trinity was also a working ship, providing protection to merchant ships making the crossing between Calais and the Cinque Ports. Over the years she had become battle-scarred, her weapons and rigging outdated. She had also been captured by French pirates, then fortunately returned by King Louis as a gesture of goodwill.

  The re-fit was needed to restore her former glory. The work had taken over a year and cost a small fortune, as he had engaged only the best craftsmen and spared no expense of the materials. Lord Wenlock ran his hand down the smoothly sanded wooden handrail and looked pleased with the quality of the finish.

  ‘Better than she was, even when new, Earl Warwick.’

  ‘Yes. It’s good to see her finished at last, Sir John.’ He looked up to where his banner flew proudly at the top of the mainmast. ‘I’ve been so preoccupied with business in the north I’d almost forgotten her refitting was due to be completed.’

  Lord Wenlock showed them the powerful new cannons, specially cast in bronze and fitted in special gun ports along each side. ‘These are the latest design, more powerful than much heavier cannon, with an effective range of over three hundred yards. The carriages are English elm, good for resistance to splitting.’

  Richard saw Tully looking at how the carriages were held down by thick ropes, shackled to the deck. ‘We used to haul the old guns around the deck to give a wider field of fire. Aren’t these ropes going to be a problem?’

  ‘You should have seen the recoil when we tested the new guns.’ Lord Wenlock bent down alongside Tully. ‘That’s why we have these breeching ropes, to keep them in position.’ He led them to the stern, where Trinity now had smaller swivel guns, as they had seen used by Spanish warships to d
evastating effect.

  Tully tested the range of movement and nodded in approval. ‘These are going to be useful when we close in on Burgundians.’

  Lord Wenlock looked pleased. ‘We’ve had them mounted fore and aft. They fire buckshot, as well as the smaller cannon balls.’ He looked serious. ‘You just have to make sure they don’t swing round and fire across the deck!’

  Richard was keen to see what had been done with the accommodation and they went below. As well as Richard’s luxurious cabin at the stern, which had views out to sea, there was a generous cabin for guests and another for the captain. All the cabins were fitted out with new wood panelling. The spacious wardroom and adjoining galley had low headroom for the tall Lord Wenlock. The even taller King Edward had hit his head more than once aboard Trinity.

  They were completing their tour of the ship when one of the crew advised of the arrival of their guests. The relaunch of Trinity provided the perfect excuse for Richard to gather his family in Sandwich. Anne had travelled from Warwick Castle with their daughters and household the previous day and were in lodgings in the town. His brother George had ridden from London and George, Duke of Clarence had brought a small army of servants and retainers from the west. Only his brother John remained in the north, still dealing with sporadic Lancastrian uprisings.

  Richard welcomed them both and they all assembled on the deck for the formal blessing of the ship. Richard’s brother looked once again like the Archbishop of York in his full regalia as he conducted the ceremony. After the blessing Richard met privately with his brother and the duke in his cabin. They had both brought important documents for him.

  First his brother handed Richard a large letter bearing an impressive lead seal. ‘The Papal dispensation.’

  Richard examined the seal on the document. ‘Thank you. There was a time when I wondered if I’d ever see the day this was granted. It has been almost three years.’

  His brother looked pleased. ‘I am glad to be able to help you, Richard, although I fear there will be consequences of this marriage. I have to leave now, Richard, as I must return to London.’ He looked at the young duke. ‘You have my blessing, as well as that of Rome.’

  George, Duke of Clarence, studied the seal. ‘Thank you, archbishop. Your brother told me you succeeded, although it’s good to see this with my own eyes.’

  After Richard’s brother had left, George handed Richard an official warrant from the king, this time bearing the royal seal.

  Richard unfolded the warrant and studied it carefully. ‘Good.’ He looked at the young duke and his brother, aware that they were about to pass the point of no return. ‘Edward has agreed my request to return to Calais to again defend the shipping of the English Channel against Scottish and Breton Channel pirates. I shall look forward to that in due course. First, we have a wedding to attend to.’

  George frowned. ‘Edward is going to be furious with us both when he finds out.’

  ‘That’s why the wedding needs to be in Calais. Once we are safely across the Channel there’s not a lot even he can do about it.’

  George still seemed concerned. Richard knew the young duke was still capable of running back to London, given the opportunity. As well as making any prospect of his marriage to Isabel impossible, George knew enough now to have them all condemned as traitors.

  Richard tried to look more confident than he felt. ‘Your brother seems to have overlooked the fact I’ve been Captain of Calais for a long time. Calais has England's only standing army, loyal to me and mine to turn to whatever course I choose.’

  ‘What about the Duke of Burgundy? He has more than enough men to attack Calais if Edward gives him leave to do so.’

  Richard was surprised at the young duke’s grasp of the situation. ‘I can deal with the Duke of Burgundy. I have been in correspondence with your sister. Margaret will help us win over her new husband.’

  There was a surprise waiting for them both when they returned to Richard’s lodgings in the town. George’s mother Duchess Cecily of York was waiting for them. It had been a few years since Richard had last seen her. In that time her hair had turned a soft shade of grey and even on the warm day the duchess wore black gloves and a heavy dark cloak with a fur trim. She had a reputation for her short temper and glowered at them as she dismissed their attempted warm welcome.

  ‘Word has reached me that you are once again saying that Edward is low born.’

  Richard could not deny it. Once again he felt the prospect of Isabel’s marriage slipping from his grasp right at the last moment.

  The duchess took his silence as an admission. ‘Tell me it’s not because you plan to replace him with George.’ She scowled at her son, as if noticing him for the first time.’

  George could not restrain himself. ‘You have as good as admitted it yourself!’

  Cecily gave him a withering look. ‘You should know better than to raise your voice to your mother. Such talk is treason, George, and well you know it.’

  Richard was becoming increasingly concerned. ‘Do you deny it, here and now, Duchess Cecily?’

  ‘Of course I deny it. Shame on you, Richard, for such betrayal of Edward. Is it true that you accuse the queen’s mother of using sorcery to bring about Edward’s marriage to her daughter?’

  Once again, Richard chose not to answer.

  His aunt turned on him accusingly. ‘You are planning to make George king, regardless of the consequences, so your daughter can become queen!’

  ‘I simply ask your blessing for my daughter to marry your son, that is all.’

  The duchess had heard enough. ‘Rest assured, Earl Warwick, the king will hear of this and he will not think well of it.’

  Richard hoped he could appeal to her better nature. ‘I ask you as my father’s sister, as a Neville, to consider what is best for your family. There is no better suitor in England, and she is heiress to half my fortune.’ He took comfort from the flicker of compassion he thought he saw in her eyes.

  The duchess looked at them both. ‘I cannot give you my blessing, knowing it would be against Edward’s wishes, although in memory of both your fathers, I will pray for you all.’

  The Trinity sailed with the tide, followed by a fleet of ships carrying archers and men-at-arms to reinforce the garrison, as well as wedding guests, servants and cooks to assist with the wedding banquet. Richard breathed a sigh of relief as they tied up at the familiar quay, overlooked by the dark shape of the old Rysbank Tower.

  After a busy few days of preparation for the wedding everything was finally ready. The cathedral-like church of Notre Dame, which had been damaged and repaired so many times in battles for control of Calais, was filled with the delicate scent of hundreds of fresh flowers. Isabel and Richard made the short journey from the castle in a coach drawn by two white horses. She looked happy and beautiful in her wedding dress of brilliant white silk. Her long dark hair was combed down over her shoulders and she wore a diamond tiara, which sparkled in the bright Calais sunshine.

  Richard took his daughter’s hand in his and led her along the aisle to where George, Duke of Clarence waited in his colourful knight’s regalia. Richard was relieved to see so many knights and nobles had made the crossing to Calais to show their support. All were aware this was not without the risk of their attendance being reported to the king, although for now all that mattered was the wedding.

  Richard’s brother, the Archbishop of York, conducted the service and young George’s voice was clear and confident as he said his vows. Richard stared up to the high arched ceiling of the old church. His eyes rested on the brightly painted effigy of Christ on the cross. He said thanks to God his daughter had found a good marriage at last and prayed that he had led his family on the right path.

  The wedding celebrations were barely over when a ship arrived with urgent news from England. Followers of Robin of Redesdale had begun rallying in the north and King Edward had left for Fotheringay Castle with an army to deal with the uprising. Events were moving
faster than Richard had planned. He met with his new son-in-law and they agreed to return to Sandwich and call for the good men of England to be ready to defend their rights.

  Trinity sailed back to a rousing welcome from his supporters in Kent which reminded Richard of the old days. Hundreds of well-wishers were waiting on the quayside and the word was that an army of thousands were now marching from the north. He wondered what his brother John would do, knowing he would be torn between his loyalty to the king and his family.

  Richard also learned that there was no time to lose, as his old adversary Sir William Herbert, now Earl of Pembroke in place of Jasper Tudor, was bringing an army of Welshmen in support of the king. This could be his only chance to take control of the capital. The time had come to march on London. As they approached the city Richard looked back over his shoulder and could see the black bull of Clare on the banner of the Duke of Clarence, his men following behind. Behind them a straggling line of riders and foot soldiers dressed in Warwick colours stretched far back into the distance. It looked as if the numbers of their followers had now grown to several thousand.

  Luke Tully rode at Richard’s side and saw him looking back at their growing army. ‘We have a lot of hungry mouths to feed when we arrive in London. What kind of reception do you think we’ll have, my lord?’

  Richard wasn’t sure of the answer. ‘I’ve heard that people have had enough of the Woodvilles.’ He looked across at Tully. ‘Earl Rivers will have already found there is nothing so unpopular as new taxes.’

  Tully frowned. ‘Why are they needed, now the king no longer plans a war on France?’

  ‘Good question, Tully. King Edward has promised much and delivered little. The Woodville’s have been living beyond their means.’