by Jean Plaidy
‘It is wonderful news,’ cried Henry, always delighted in other people’s good fortune. ‘And how is Margaret?’
‘Margaret is well and so much looking forward to the event.’
‘She is a little young to bear a child.’
‘She is not quite fourteen,’ said Jasper. ‘Young, yes, but she is mature enough. They are very happy together and this child will bless their union. My father, I and our sister are full of delight. We hope for a boy, of course.’
‘I understand that but I doubt not you will be grateful for whatever the Lord sends you.’
‘Indeed yes. Margaret is young. It is good that she has proved so soon that she is fruitful.’
When Jasper had left, Henry told the Queen the good news. Margaret could understand their delight in the coming of a child. She herself had waited a long time and now her boy was the joy of her life. She was a little irritated by the Tudors though because some of the titles Henry had bestowed on them had been taken from her. The Pembroke estates in particular had at first been assigned to her and she had not at all liked giving them up for Jasper. Having had little in her youth and been the daughter of a man who was constantly in debt she cherished her possessions with something like fanaticism. Still, the Lancastrian cause needed men like the Tudors. All their blessings came from Henry, their benefactor as well as their half-brother, and so she did not openly show her resentment over the Pembroke estates, but welcomed the Tudors whenever they came to Court. She showed an interest in their affairs, and now rejoiced with Henry in their good fortune.
I trust all will go well with Margaret,’ said Henry, ‘She is really nothing but a child herself
‘She will be all right,’ said Margaret lightly. Other people’s difficulties were always light-weight in her opinion.
Henry said: I have asked to have news of the birth as soon as it happens.’
‘Well, we shall expect messengers from Wales with the good news.’
It was a grey November day when the messengers came. They clearly did not bring good news.
When Henry heard they had arrived he was filled with apprehension. It was not yet time for the birth, for he had understood it was to be in January.
It was Owen Tudor himself who came. Bad news indeed.
‘My dear Owen,’ cried the King, ‘what is it? Not Margaret? Oh, I feared she was too young.’
‘Margaret is sick with sorrow, my lord.’ Owen seemed unable to go on.
‘My dear Owen,’ began the King, ‘she is young...There will be more.’
Owen shook his head. ‘It is my son, your half-brother...Edmund.’
‘Edmund? What of Edmund?’
‘He is dead, my lord.’
‘Dead? Edmund? But how...? Killed...? Murdered?’
‘Nay, my lord. It was some malady. It attacked him suddenly and...’
‘But he is so young.’
‘Twenty-six, my lord.’ Owen turned away. He was remembering the day Katherine had told him that she was going to have a child and how their delight had mingled with their apprehension when they had arranged for the reluctant priest to marry them. It was all long ago...twenty-six years... those happy days which he often looked back to. He remembered so much of them...the quietness of life at Hadham; the peace of the gardens...the happiness of obscurity. What fools they had been—what idyllic fools, to think that a Queen could ever be left in peace.
‘My dear Owen, this is such sorrow. I will pray for his soul. Poor Edmund. And poor Margaret.’
‘The child is due in two months’ time.’
‘Yes, I know. I trust this will do no damage.’
‘Jasper has taken charge of her. That is why he is not here with me. He has taken her to Pembroke Castle. He will keep her there until the child is born.’
‘Jasper is a good man.’
‘He was devoted to his brother. We are a devoted family, my lord.’
‘I thank God for it.’
‘There is nothing we can do now but wait for the birth of the child.’
‘Go back now to Pembroke, Owen. Convey my regrets to Margaret. Tell her my thoughts are with her and I shall remember her in my prayers.’
‘That will comfort her, I know.’
After Owen had left Henry thought a great deal about the sad young girl who was about to become a mother. He mentioned her in his prayers whenever he prayed and as he was constantly engaged in prayer that meant very frequently.
Poor young girl, he thought. But Jasper is a good man. He will look after the child for the sake of his brother if nothing else.
It was January when the news came from Pembroke.
It was good news this time. Margaret had been safely delivered of a boy.
Owen himself rode over soon after the messenger had brought the news and Henry received him with open arms and embraced him warmly.
‘So you are a grandfather, eh, Owen?’
‘I am proud to be,’ said Owen.
‘It is the best news. Margaret has come through safely in spite of her youth and the terrible shock she has suffered.’
‘And the child is a fine healthy boy.’
‘God has sent him to comfort her.’
‘She is happy in the child, and she has been most touched by your concern for her. I have given her all your tender loving messages and I am sure they were of great help. She wanted only one name for the child. It is Henry.’
The King laughed. ‘So he is my namesake. God bless little Henry Tudor.’
###
Ever since the Love Day celebration Margaret had been very restive. Considering her present situation and consulting with her closest adherents, those nobles whom she thought of as the leaders of the Court party such as young Somerset. Egremont, Clifford, Northumberland, Exeter and Rivers, she had come to the conclusion that Warwick was an even greater enemy than York.
There was some charismatic aura about Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. He was the sort of man whom nature seemed to have destined to play an important part in the affairs of a nation. Who was he? In the first place son of the Earl of Salisbury, and he would have been of no great importance while his father lived. But what should he do but marry Anne Beauchamp, daughter of the Earl of Warwick. Yet at the time of the marriage two lives stood between him and possession of the Warwick title and the vast estates that went with it. Nature conveniently removed those obstacles and on the death of the Earl, Richard Neville took the title.
It was not only good fortune that he possessed. He had not only strength, ruthlessness, love of adventure; he was a man to mould affairs. It was a pity that he had allied himself with York instead of standing by his King.
Since he had taken the governorship of Calais he had become a menace to the French; and while he was in possession of Calais, it was considerably to York’s advantage.
Margaret was angry. She had wanted young Somerset to have Calais. She had pleaded with Henry to give it to him, but Henry, in this new found strength of his, was stubbornly refusing to accede to her wishes.
‘It would never do, Margaret,’ he said. ‘The people have a fondness for Warwick. They think of him as a hero in the southeast of the country.’
‘He is nothing but a pirate. He brings us into disrepute with the French.’
‘My dear, the French are not exactly friendly with us, are they? Oh, I know they are your people and you love them, which is natural. I would not expect that to be otherwise. But you must remember that you are English now and it is in our successes that you must rejoice.’
‘In Warwick’s? In your enemy’s?’
‘But he is one of our great Earls. He walked with Exeter in the procession. There was amity between us.’
Oh, what was the use of talking to Henry! Some might say that the French were acting as privateers in the Channel and that Warwick was merely retaliating. It might be pointed out that in the last years the high seas had become profitable for pirates and that Warwick
was taking his share and not leaving all the pickings to the French. Margaret would not listen. She hated Warwick—even more than she hated York and she wanted Calais for Somerset. She wanted to make sure that that important town was not in the hands of her enemies.
An opportunity came which she seized eagerly. It was not Margaret’s way to consider the advantages and disadvantages of a situation. She was entirely optimistic when an idea occurred to her and impatient with any who might try to point out flaws in the arrangements she planned.
Warwick had gone too far in his latest exploit. He had intercepted ships carrying cargo from Lübeck. It was a very different matter intercepting ships from France with whom the country had been on terms of war for so long, but there was an agreement between Lübeck and England which had been made only two years before. To intercept and carry off these ships was therefore a flagrant violation of that treaty.
Margaret immediately called her friends together and made sure that Henry was not present and knew nothing of the meeting.
‘This is outrageous,’ she cried, her eyes flashing and gleaming with triumph. ‘But it delivers Warwick into our hands. I shall call together a council which will be headed by you, my lord Rivers and others we shall appoint, and the Earl of Warwick shall be commanded to relinquish his post. As it will be offered to you, my lord Somerset, it might be well if you did not attend the first meeting of the Council. This is going to be the end of Warwick’s power in Calais.’
It was an easy matter to get the Council to agree for they were all members of the Court party, all adherents of Lancaster, all against York, and in great delight Margaret sent an embassy to Calais, informing Warwick that he was to relinquish his post forthwith as it had been unanimously decided that in view of the Lübeck action, he was no longer fitted to hold it.
Warwick’s answer was what might have been expected.
‘It was the Parliament who appointed me. I shall certainly not resign unless on order from Parliament. I take no heed of inner councils which lack parliamentary authority.’
Margaret fumed with rage. The Parliament would not agree to force him to resign, she knew. They considered what the effect of his resignation would be on the people of London and the south-east who had grown rich while he was governor of Calais. They said he made the Channel safe for English shipping; they liked their buccaneer. It appealed to them to think of his terrorizing the old enemy the French; the booty he captured was sent over to England and that was enriching the land.
Somerset had done nothing to recommend himself except ingratiate himself with the Queen and that went against him with quite a number of people.
Once again Warwick had flouted her. But she saw a glimmer of hope.
Warwick was coming over to England—no doubt to harangue the Parliament and tell them he was the best man for Calais and if they wanted to see England triumphant in France again they needed men such as he was.
Margaret would not see the truth of this. But Warwick was an enemy and she wanted to destroy him.
It was not impossible. She wondered who to take into her confidence. It must appear natural of course. There were continual quarrels between the wearers of the red and white roses and these often resulted in bloodshed. A brawl between them would not seem of any special significance, but if such a brawl occurred in a certain place and Warwick was there and he was slain...it would be difficult to attach blame to anyone, least of all the Queen.
Warwick would be at Westminster. He was coming to explain to the Council the position at Calais; to tell them what a fine fellow he was, of course, thought Margaret. Well, while he was at Westminster Hall there should be a quarrel between Warwick’s retainers and those of the royal household. Warwick should be brought hurrying from the council chamber and there must be those waiting for him. They must fall upon him, kill him and then mingle in the general affray.
It seemed comparatively simple to Margaret. Then with Warwick out of the way York would have lost his most powerful friend. York without Warwick was far less formidable than he was at the moment. Warwick had the south east of the country with him and he was fast becoming known as a hero, one of those men who went into battle carrying the certainty of victory with them like a flag.
The day was set. Margaret was waiting in an atmosphere of increasing tension for news to reach her of her enemy’s death.
###
Warwick arrived at Westminster Hall with his retinue prominently displaying his badge of the Ragged Staff which was recognized all over the country and being applauded wherever it was seen.
He left his men in the hall while he went along into the council chamber. He had not been there for more than five or six minutes when the fighting broke out in the hall. One of the King’s men had jostled a bearer of the Ragged Staff; muttering disparaging remarks against Warwick.
Warwick’s men hit out at the King’s man who immediately brought out a dagger. It was the cue. The royal servants were prepared to do the Queen’s bidding and in a matter of seconds the brawl had started. Warwick’s men were taken a little by surprise. Although they were prepared for insults they had not thought it would be as deadly as it was proving to be. They rushed at the assailants crying ‘Á Warwick! Á Warwick!’
Warwick himself hearing the turmoil came rushing out of the council chamber as Margaret had guessed he would.
It was the sign. Those who were ready to kill him dashed forward. But he was too quick for them and while he parried the blow he was surrounded by his own men, for they had realized almost at once that this was no ordinary brawl. This was an attempt to assassinate their leader. They would defend him with their lives and this they proceeded to do.
Warwick, bold adventurer that he was, saw at once that he was in a very dangerous position. His men were outnumbered and the purpose of this affray was to kill him. His only hope lay in escape. His well-trained men grasped the situation immediately. They cut a path through the shouting royalists and Warwick hurried through it. Several of his men guarded him while he with a few friends made his way out of the hall.
There was not a moment to lose. Even the gallant men of the Ragged Staff could not hold the royalists off indefinitely. Warwick’s barges were at the river’s edge and he and a few friends rushed to them and were on their way up river when their pursuers howling with frustrated rage came dashing down to the water’s edge.
‘We must make for Sandwich with all speed,’ said the Earl. ‘I shall return to Calais at once. I see I am unsafe here. The Queen has decided to murder me.’
Before he crossed, however, he sent messengers to his father Salisbury and to his uncle-in-law, the Duke of York, telling them of the assassination attempt and that he believed the Queen was responsible for it.
Warwick also sent messages to the Council which he had so hastily been forced to leave.
The Parliament had appointed him to Calais, he said. He would not give it up. He would abandon his estates in England rather.
Margaret was frustrated. Her scheme had failed; perhaps it had been clumsy, not well enough thought out; and now Warwick knew that there had been a plot to assassinate him and he would suspect the Queen was at the bottom of it.
Letters came to Calais from Salisbury and York telling Warwick that the Queen was preparing to attack. They believed that the plot against Warwick was the first step in her campaign. They would very soon be going into battle, for York had discovered that Margaret believed the King was popular enough to rally the people to his cause.
Warwick must return to England. They needed him.
Warwick considered this. Henry was useless in the role of King; more and more the real ruler would become Margaret. That would be disaster for England...and Warwick.
It was men such as Warwick who made Kings and Warwick had decided that York was the man to be King...York guided by Warwick.
He must leave Calais. He would take with him his trained men of the Ragged Staff to seek victory in the war against the L
ancastrians.
###
Warwick rode through England from Sandwich to London in the style of a king. Everywhere the people of Kent came out to cheer him. They called him the Captain of Calais and he reminded them of the old days when England had kings worthy to lead them, when victory was the order of the day. Warwick was of that kind.
He knew it. He revelled in it. He thought: when the time comes I will make York a king.
His captains were led by Andrew Trollope and John Blount— two of the finest soldiers one could wish to meet who would serve him well, he believed, but they had implied with the utmost firmness that they would not take up arms against the King.
This was no conflict with the King, he had pointed out. This was a battle between certain noblemen. Henry was King—all accepted that. But the Queen chose his ministers; the Queen worked with the French against the English. What they had to do was to prevent that, to set up a council of ministers who would make sure that the best men ruled and the Queen was not allowed to pursue her treacherous way. All the captains saw the point of that and they were proud to march through the country flourishing the badge of the Ragged Staff.
Even so the people did not flock to march under his banner. They had had enough of war. They wanted no more, least of all civil war. Peace was what they wanted, peace and prosperity.
Sensing the mood of the Londoners, Warwick skirted the city and made for his home ground of Warwick. There he heard a sorry story. There had been raids by the Lancastrians. All over the country the people were taking sides and as a well-known supporter of his uncle-in-law York, his lands were considered fair game by the Lancastrians.
He was convinced that it was time to march against the Queen, and decided to make his way immediately to Ludlow where he would join York.
His father, the Earl of Salisbury, was in the meantime on the road to Ludlow and with him were his two sons. Sir John and Thomas Neville. As they were approaching Blore Heath to their great consternation they saw in the distance an armed force advancing towards them. It was too late to turn back. They had been seen, and within a very short time it became clear that they were about to encounter Lancastrians on the march.
