Whethamsted’s Register
The northern men … swept onwards like a whirlwind from the north, and in the impulse of their fury attempted to overrun the whole of England. At this time too … paupers and beggars flocked from those quarters in infinite numbers, just like so many mice rushing from their holes, and everywhere devoted themselves to pillage and plunder, regardless of place or person … they also irreverently rushed … into churches and other sanctuaries of God, and most wickedly plundered them of their chalices, books and vestments … When priests and others of Christ’s faithful in any way sought to resist … they cruelly slaughtered them in the very churches or churchyards. Thus did they proceed with impunity, spreading in vast crowds over a region of thirty miles in breadth, and covering the whole surface of the earth like so many locusts, made their way towards London …
Crowland Chronicle
The queen came south with a great fellowship to defeat the articles and conclusions taken by the authority of the parliament beforesaid. Against whose coming the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Warwick with a great people went to St Albans taking King Henry with them …
Great Chronicle of London
On 12th February the king left London accompanied by the Duke of Norfolk, and went to Barnet. That same day the Earl of Warwick left London with a great ordnance to meet the king at St Albans. Meanwhile the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Northumberland came from the north as far as St Albans, laying waste all the towns and villages that stood along their way.
John Benet’s Chronicle
53
A Great and Strong-laboured Woman
Oddly enough, it was not the news of the failure at Mortimer’s Cross that troubled her, or even the loss of Jasper Tudor, who had fled and, some said, left the country, but the news that the Earl of Warwick had John de la Pole on his side, as one of the generals in his army.
John de la Pole, son of her great friend the Duke of Suffolk, for whom she had never ceased to mourn, and Lady Alice, his wife.
That little boy. She could see his small, pointed features even now. And the little girl, Margaret Beaufort, to whom he had been briefly married.
He was not a little boy any more, of course – what was he – eighteen? And married now to one of the Duke of York’s daughters. The Earl of Warwick’s right-hand man.
Even so, she did not know, she was not certain, that when the time came she could easily see him executed. She felt something quivering inside her at the thought of it; almost a sickness.
It was Lady Alice who had given her the advice that had helped her to conceive.
My own son is such a comfort to me, she had said. And the thought that he is already married is also a comfort.
But it was not in the queen to concede that Lady Alice might also feel injured. Such concessions were a form of weakness. She could only feel her own injury, the betrayal. When the time came – and it would, if God granted them the victory as He must – she would show no weakness. She would execute everyone it was necessary to execute.
She turned back to her advisors at the table.
She had surrounded herself with those young men – the new Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Clifford – whose fathers had been killed at the first Battle of St Albans, and told them Warwick was their prey. After they had taken Dunstable, where a mere two hundred men had fought against them under a local butcher, she had sent out more than double the usual number of scouts. And they had come back with reports of Warwick’s position. He was north of the town, they said, setting all his men to dig up the roads or block them with great nets full of nails and ditches filled with spikes, so that no man or horse could pass. He had brought the king with him, as hostage.
And while they took in this information, Warwick’s own scouts arrived – or those sent out for him by his steward, Lovelace. Sir Henry Lovelace, Warwick’s most trusted steward and leader of his Kentish troops, was working for her. Had she not spared his life after the Battle of Wakefield on condition that he would never take up arms against her again? And she had offered him money and an earldom for his pains.
Warwick had no idea that the queen was so close, the scouts said. And they swore that they would tell him she was more than nine miles away, to the north. All his attention was to the north, they said.
The queen rose and walked a little way from them. Her fingernails dug fiercely into her palms. Somewhere in her head a bird was singing. When she spoke, her voice was so soft they could hardly hear.
‘Why then, we have him,’ she said.
The Second Battle of St Albans: 17 February 1461
On 17th February the lords in King Harry’s party pitched a field and fortified it very strongly, but … before they were prepared for the battle the queen’s party was at hand with them in the town of St Albans, and then everything was out of order, for their scouts did not come back to tell them how close the queen was …
Gregory’s Chronicle
The northern men … were forced to turn back by a few archers who met them near the Great Cross, and to flee to the west end of the town where, entering a lane which leads from that end northwards as far as St Peter’s Street, they had a great fight with a certain band of men of the other army. Then, after not a few had been killed on both sides, going out to the heath called Barnet Heath, they fought a great battle with certain large forces, perhaps four to five thousand, of the vanguard of the king’s army … The southern men who were fiercer at the beginning were broken very quickly afterwards, and the more quickly because, looking back, they saw no one coming from the main body of the king’s army or preparing to bring them help, whereupon they turned their backs on the northern men and fled … The northern men, seeing this, pursued them very swiftly on horseback and, catching a good many, ran them through with their lances.
Whethamsted’s Register
And so [as night fell] the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Warwick fled and lost the field …
Brut Chronicle
They abandoned the king, who was then captured by the other lords.
John Benet’s Chronicle
The queen and her party had the victory and caused the Earl of Warwick and his men to flee, and King Henry was taken and brought to the queen his wife, with whom was the king’s only son, Prince Edward, a child of about seven years, and his father dubbed him knight …
Great Chronicle of London
54
The Little Prince
After the king had knighted him, the young prince himself knighted thirty men, including Andrew Trollope, who knelt before him and said, ‘My lord, I have not deserved it, for I slew but fifteen men, and they came to me while I stood still in one place,’ and everyone laughed. Except for the prince, who stared solemnly forward with eyes fierce and bright as a kestrel’s.
Only once or twice the direction of his gaze wavered, seeking reassurance in his mother’s eyes. And she never took her gaze from him.
Then, after the ceremony of knighting, the prisoners were led forward. First came Lord Bonville and Sir Thomas Kyriell who had looked after the king during the fighting and had sworn that he would come to no harm. Everyone looked to the king, knowing that he had promised them mercy, and he smiled back feebly at them all.
So it was a surprise when the queen spoke. ‘Fair son,’ she said, ‘what deaths shall these knights die?’
He walked forward then, conscious of everyone’s eyes on him, on his soldier’s brigandine of purple velvet, his jewelled sword which he thrust before him, first at one man then another.
‘Let them have their heads taken off,’ he said.
There was a small ripple of unease, quickly suppressed. Everyone present expected the king to speak, but he remained sitting with two fingers pressed to his lips, while the queen glared triumphantly at the two astonished knights. As they were led roughly away, Lord Bonville could not prevent himself; he said, ‘May God destroy those who have taught thee this manner of speech!’
And the
queen’s eyes flickered for a moment, but her virulent smile did not fade.
The Lord Bonville that came with King Harry would have withdrawn as other lords did and saved himself, but the king assured him that he should have no bodily harm. Nonetheless, notwithstanding that surety, at the insistence of the queen … he was beheaded at St Albans and with him a worthy knight called Sir Thomas Kyriell, by judgement of him that was called the prince – a child.
An English Chronicle
This battle was done on Shrove Tuesday in which were slain 9,000 persons.
An English Chronicle
And on Ash Wednesday the queen and her party sent to London for supplies …
Brut Chronicle
She sent a chaplain and a squire to the mayor of London, requesting money, but they came back empty-handed …
John Benet’s Chronicle
And great watch was made in the city of London for it was reported that the queen with the northern men would come down to the city and rob and destroy it utterly …
Great Chronicle of London
When the news was known here, the mayor sent to the king and queen, it is supposed to offer obedience, provided they were assured that they would not be plundered or suffer violence. In the mean time they keep a good guard at the gates, which they keep closed, and … the shops are closed and nothing is done either by the tradespeople or by the merchants, and men do not stand in the streets or go far away from home …
Newsletter from London, 19 February 1461
The queen and her party sent [once again] to London for supplies which the mayor ordained, but when the carts came to Cripplegate the commons of the city would not let them pass …
Brut Chronicle
The mayor ordered bread and supplies to be sent to the queen and a certain sum of money. But the men of London took the carts and parted the bread among the commons … and as for the money I know not. I think the purse stole the money.
Gregory’s Chronicle
Then the northern men being foreriders of the queen’s host came to the gates of London and would have entered the city. But the mayor and the commons fearing they would fall to pillage … held them out.
Great Chronicle of London
The Duchess of York, being at London [then] sent over the sea her two youngest sons, George and Richard, which went to Utrecht.
Brut Chronicle
This same time the two brothers of the Earl of March, George and Richard, were sent to Philip Duke of Burgundy for safeguard of their persons, which were of the said duke notably received, cherished and honoured …
An English Chronicle
[Then the city of London] dreading the manners and malice of the queen, the Duke of Somerset and others, lest they would have plundered the city, sent the Duchess of Buckingham and knowledgeable men with her, to negotiate with them to show benevolence and goodwill to the city …
An English Chronicle
55
Duchess Anne Petitions the Queen
The night before she left the city the duchess had a dream, in which her dead husband was playing with their grandson. He had an elaborate toy, not unlike a convoluted abacus – although the beads were gold and silver and precious jewels – which he held out to the little boy, Henry, who pushed the beads carefully along one twisted pathway after another. There was hardly any light in the room and the beads shone.
They both seemed very absorbed in their task and didn’t look up as she entered. She had to say, ‘Humphrey – there you are!’ just as if she had mislaid him and had been looking for him all this time, before her husband saw her. And there appeared on his face an expression of infantile naughtiness, which was the expression he wore whenever he played with their grandson, egging him on to all kinds of mischief. ‘Sssh, don’t tell your grandmother,’ he would say, loud enough for her to hear, and the little boy, understanding that there was a conspiracy, would press his finger to his lips.
But the little boy didn’t look up, he just went back to his game.
She didn’t notice at first, so intent was she on her missing husband.
‘Humphrey, where have you been?’ she said, but the playfulness of his expression only intensified. He looked at the boy. And for the first time she noticed that their grandson was sitting on a throne; a small throne, adapted to his size. It gleamed dully in the gloom.
Also she saw that he didn’t resemble their grandson at all. He was smaller, for one thing, with reddish hair.
But the duchess was not going to be distracted, not after so many months of mourning.
‘Humphrey, I do wish you would tell me how these wars will end. And what should we do about the queen?’
But her husband only shook his head. His long nose seemed even longer in the half-light. He turned to their grandson. ‘Don’t tell your grandmother,’ he said.
At this the little boy finally looked up. He had a pale, thin face, not at all like her grandson’s, and he spoke to the duke clearly, in precise tones: ‘She is not my grandmother,’ he said.
The duchess turned back to her husband to ask who the little boy was, and what the duke was doing with him, but he had gone.
And the duchess woke, as she had done for many mornings, on the verge of tears. In the not quite light before dawn she lay in her bed, feeling weighed down, somehow, as if all the tears she had not cried had altered the composition of her body, making it heavier, and damp.
Certainly it was more prone to aches and pains.
She did not know why she was still grieving. She did not know that she had loved her husband so very much, only that he was a fact of her life, had been there for as long as she could remember, and was now gone.
She had to draw again the parameters of her life, and did not know how; that was it. Or maybe she was mourning the fact of mortality itself. And there was no cure for that, apart from the obvious.
The duchess shifted in her bed, then – feeling a certain resistance from her hip – lay still again, pondering the strangeness of her dream: the little boy, who was not her grandson, who had sat on a throne.
It was nonsense, of course. They had only the one grandson, after all these years, who was now Duke of Buckingham in his grandfather’s stead, at the tender age of five. Her second son, Henry, had as yet produced no children from his marriage to Margaret Beaufort. She had meant to speak to her daughter-in-law about it on their last visit, but something had held her back. Perhaps the suspicion that it might be the fault of her son, a thought which she did not want to investigate. Her daughter-in-law Margaret already had a son, after all.
If the little boy in her dream was not her grandson, then who was he? It must have been her grandson. People often did not look like themselves in dreams. What was her husband trying to tell her – that their grandson would be king?
It was only a dream, and it was just as well. As if there were not enough contenders for the throne in this land.
The duchess made a more concentrated effort to move from her bed, tentatively testing her hip; whether it would stand if she got out of bed on the usual side, or whether she had better try the other leg first.
He had left her to old age and rheumatism, that was it.
But she would have to get up somehow, for that day she had to travel to the queen. Who seemed likely to besiege the city, and whose men were ravaging all the countryside about. The mayor and aldermen had pleaded with her to go, to exercise what influence she had, which was little enough, God knew, as she had told them. But they had said that the queen would listen to her, because both her husband and her eldest son had died fighting for the king. Only you can save the city, they had said.
What would she say to the queen? Your majesty, you must moderate your men. As if that would work. She was as likely to influence the weather.
Which had been atrocious lately. Freezing rain and snow falling in equal amounts, turning all the roads to slush. Even on the main road from London there would be cracks and great pools, and all the rivers were in floo
d. Why could people not wage war after Easter, as the Irish were said to do? Even if they were not attacked by the queen’s men, who were running riot, it was said, they might not reach St Albans that day.
Still, she had promised to try. She would travel in a carriage bearing the queen’s insignia, together with the Duchess of Bedford (who had been married to the king’s uncle) and four of the aldermen. To ask the queen to be pitiful and clement in her dealings with the city.
Four anxious aldermen, her husband’s voice said, accompanying Duchess Anne.
How he had loved his word games.
She hoped the queen would understand that she could not curtsy as well as she used to.
Making a concentrated effort, she managed to reach her bell and summon her maid, who helped her to get out of her bed and dress in her warmest clothes, her winter ermine, gathering up her grey hair into a hood. The maid held up a copper plate to her as a mirror, but the duchess barely glanced at it. She looked old, old before her time, but that did not matter, so long as she looked respectable. Because who knew the outcome of that day? If her husband knew, she thought, sitting down again with a grimace, he had not told her.
Which was just like him, she thought.
The journey was as bad as anticipated, though at least they were not attacked. And the queen’s humour was, if anything, worse.
‘The city of London has turned traitor,’ she said. ‘It has stolen our food and locked its gates. Against me, its queen.’
The two duchesses and the four aldermen remained on their knees; the queen had not given them permission to rise. The queen, on the other hand, was pacing about.
‘How dare they?’ she demanded. ‘By what licence or law do they act in this way?’
Behind the duchess, one of the oldest aldermen began a quavering speech.
‘Your majesty,’ he said, ‘it is only that the people are afraid.’
The queen whipped round at once.
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