by Livi Michael
‘How you have grown!’ he said, and attempted to draw the boy towards him with trembling hands. The young prince glanced at his mother and she nodded, almost imperceptibly. But he would not be lifted on to his father’s knee; he pulled away.
‘I can do this!’ he said, whipping round with a rapier thrust towards the king, so that everyone present drew in their breath. No one, not even the prince, could draw a sword against the king.
But the king had only tenderness for his son. He raised the palm of his hand towards the sword point and gently guided it away.
‘I see you have learned new skills,’ he said.
‘M’sieur de Brézé taught me – and there was a storm – and our ship nearly sank – and we slept in a cave!’
She could only hope fervently that he would say nothing more about that night.
But the king turned to de Brézé with a smile. ‘I cannot thank you enough,’ he said, and the queen saw the tears in his eyes, and she was wrenched by the feeling that she always felt in her husband’s presence; somewhere between pity, anxiety and despair.
De Brézé responded with his usual gallantry, saying that he would give his life over and again for the queen’s cause.
Of course, he should have said the king’s cause. But the queen, passing over the moment lightly, said the king must be tired, as they were all tired, and their son should sleep while she talked to the lords. The king looked disappointed to be left, but acquiescent, as usual. So the little prince was taken away while the queen went into a panelled chamber with the most intimate members of her council.
‘What is the news from Scotland?’ she asked Jasper Tudor. ‘Will they send aid?’
Jasper replied that the new king of Scotland, being only ten years old, did what his mother told him. The regency council was split between the old lords and the new, and the new ones looked to Mary of Guelders for everything, while the old stood with Bishop Kennedy. So the Scottish court was distracted with its own quarrels. They had to hope that Mary of Guelders would uphold her former promises, despite her pledge to the Earl of Warwick.
‘I will go to see her,’ said the queen.
‘We should not wait for the Scots,’ said the Duke of Somerset. ‘Whatever they offer will not be enough. We should move swiftly, before Warwick arrives.’
The queen did not look at him. ‘How many men are here?’ she said to Lord Roos, and he said there were perhaps four or five hundred. He was of the opinion that they should wait for a week at least. He believed the Earl of Angus was on his way to join them with his men.
And Dr Morton said that if the Scottish queen thought King Henry was finally leaving she would be more generous with money and supplies.
‘Warwick will already be advancing north,’ said the Duke of Somerset. ‘While we wait he will reinforce all his garrisons.’
‘But the Yorkists will do our work for us,’ said Dr Morton. ‘As soon as they send out their summons, loyal Lancastrians everywhere will come as fast as they can to support the true king.’
Henry Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, snorted. ‘Much of our support is on the south coast,’ he said. ‘We will have to wait all winter for them to arrive.’
The queen turned to him at last. ‘We have many supporters throughout England,’ she said. The duke looked a little startled at her tone.
‘Surely, my lady,’ he said. ‘But a great part of it is in the far south – if you ask me, I would say that it is not practical to wait for all your supporters.’
‘I did not ask you,’ she said and, at the look of bafflement on his face, added, ‘From what I hear you have said quite enough already.’
‘My lady?’
‘Have you not spoken to my cousin King Louis about my particular favour?’
Instantly the atmosphere in the room changed. Even the air seemed startled. The young duke looked horrified and started to speak, but the queen faced him fully.
‘You have spoken of me to my cousin the King of France, as if I was any peasant woman you have tumbled in a barn. Knowing how that would make him see me – knowing how it would undermine my cause. Knowing that I could not – nor would not – ever look at you that way.’
Two bright spots of colour burned on Henry Beaufort’s already highly coloured face. ‘Your majesty –’ he stammered, ‘I –’
‘Perhaps you would like to speak openly, here and now, of the favour I have shown you? Or perhaps you would prefer to explain yourself to my husband, the king?’
The young duke looked around desperately for support, but no one would meet his glance.
‘Your majesty,’ he said, ‘if I have said – or done – anything to your detriment – or the detriment of your cause – I am grieved beyond measure. You cannot think –’
‘It is not what I think,’ she said, ‘but what the French king – and what your king – thinks that will matter. The damage has been done. And we have work to do here. You may go.’
The Duke of Somerset stared at her, appalled. He had never been dismissed from her presence before – he had always taken the lead in councils of war. For a moment it looked as if he would say something they would all regret, then he turned and walked rapidly from the room.
He left an atmosphere behind him, a palpable tension. When the queen turned back to her advisors none of them would meet her gaze, as if she had breached some unspoken rule. But the queen would not back down. Her chin quivered a little with outrage as she moved swiftly on to the business of provisions.
She was concerned by how low supplies were. There was no chance at all of surviving the coming winter without further supplies. ‘We should send out some men at once,’ she said. But Lord Roos said they should not rely on raiding parties, and Jasper agreed. He said, as Tunstall had said, that they did not want to alienate all the surrounding countrymen.
The queen nodded, her chin still quivering. ‘But what do you suggest?’ she said.
In the end it was decided that the queen would return to Scotland from Berwick. She would beg the Scottish queen one last time for men, money, provisions. In the meantime, her lords would ride south to Bamburgh, where more of her ships might have arrived. A sizeable contingent would depart for Dunstanburgh, to take the fortress, and then move on to Alnwick, hopefully before the Earl of Warwick could arrive. The king and the little prince would remain in Berwick – the king was too ill to travel and the little prince had travelled enough. The queen would travel with de Brézé.
The lords could decide between them who would take charge of the castles, but she thought that Jasper should take over from Sir Richard Tunstall at Bamburgh, because she did not trust the defeated look in Tunstall’s eyes. And perhaps Lord Roos would take charge of Dunstanburgh.
Only Dr Morton ventured to ask about the Duke of Somerset.
‘What about him?’ she said. ‘He has caused enough damage.’
But the doctor said she should not be so hasty; she had no reason to doubt his loyalty. In fact, it was entirely possible that his indiscretion might have helped.
‘Helped?’ she said.
‘You know it was proposed to Edward of York that he should marry the Queen of Scots,’ Dr Morton said. ‘But our gallant duke may have distracted her.’
Jasper said it was more likely to be Bishop Kennedy who had thwarted that particular plan. But certainly he did not think that the young duke was disloyal. ‘Just young,’ he said.
The queen was too tired to argue. ‘Do as you think,’ she said. ‘I am not likely to speak to him again. I will set off early for Scotland. And you will ride south, to retake the fortresses of the north!’
In November 1462 Queen Margaret, with a small army, came out of France into Scotland and, enjoying the aid of the King of Scots, crossed the border into England and made sharp war.
Great Chronicle of London
There occurred sieges of castles in Northumberland and various clashes on the Scottish borders …
Crowland Chronicle
My Lord of Warwick l
ies at the castle of Warkworth and he rides daily to all these castles to oversee the sieges. If they need victuals or anything else, he is ready to supply them. The king commanded my Lord of Norfolk to send victuals and the ordnance from Newcastle to Warkworth Castle to my Lord of Warwick, and so my Lord of Norfolk commanded Sir John Howard [and several others] to escort the victuals and ordnance and so yesterday [10th December 1462] we were with my Lord of Warwick at Norfolk. The King lieth at Durham and my Lord of Norfolk at Newcastle … no one can depart, unless, of course, they steal away without permission, but if this were to be detected they would be sharply punished …
Paston Letters
9
Siege
Some sieges took a long time; months, even years. Warwick did not think these would. Already he had heard that the garrisons were eating their horses. It had been reported from Dunstanburgh that Dr Morton, before taking the first slice of his own horse, had said that since Our Lord had changed water into wine he would doubtlessly be capable of changing this poor meat into the finest venison.
The Earl of Warwick had enjoyed this comment. He always appreciated the diversions of wit under pressure. He had told his men there would be no need to use their artillery, they just had to keep up the blockade. The men grumbled at this, since it was the longer option. But Warwick had no intention of using up his munitions, nor of causing lasting damage to good fortresses when they might need them afterwards.
‘What about provisions?’ one of his captains had said, while another objected that at least the besieged were under shelter. The rain was turning rapidly to snow and the wind blowing so hard that it ripped through the tents and lifted the pegs clear out of the ground.
‘Our supplies are better than theirs,’ was all Warwick would say. The Duke of Norfolk was sending a stream of provisions from Newcastle, which was why Warwick made the arduous sixty-mile circuit each day, through hostile terrain, to ensure that the supplies reached all his men at each castle.
And it was hostile, though it had a kind of forbidding, melancholy beauty, sky and sea the same wet grey colour as the cliffs. As he rode through the desolate landscape there were no attacks, but the people were full of complaint. The queen had sent out raiding parties from her garrisons to all the farms, manors and priories, demanding money, livestock and food. The abbots of Durham and Hexham had gone so far as to demand the return of the money the queen had taken from them. Margaret of Anjou did not help her own cause; the earl had observed this before. The people had forgotten neither Towton, nor the queen’s long march south when they had been forcibly conscripted to her army. Now she had upset them again.
This was another reason for Warwick’s daily circuit, so that his men did not have to raid.
Meanwhile, he’d heard that the Scottish army was coming to relieve the besieged. He had already written to King Edward, who was laid low with measles, of all things, at Durham, telling him they had neither the power nor resources to resist the Scots. Certainly they could not invade Scotland.
The question was whether the Lancastrians would give in before the Scots arrived. They did not know the Scots were coming; he’d taken good care to prevent that news from penetrating the walls of the castles. Any siege was a question of balance: hope, nerve and will against circumstance. And judgement, of course, though in his experience, intelligence was dependent on hope. Uncertainty alone could lead to despair. So the real question was how long it would take for hope to die.
And then who would give in first: Lord Roos? The Earl of Pembroke? The Duke of Somerset?
It was the kind of question he always enjoyed; a calculated risk. He made sure that generous offers were sent through to the captains of the besieged garrisons: free pardons for those who yielded, safe passage for those who wished to return to their old lands or to their old allegiance to King Henry; pensions and other rewards for those who would give up this allegiance and enter the service of the true king, Edward. Although he could not guess who would yield first he felt an underlying serenity, like a presiding angel gently spreading its wings, that assured him someone would.
So he toured indefatigably, offering words of comfort to the men in these comfortless camps, where the rain and snow beat down intermingled, turning all the land to mire. Victory was certain, he told them, and they would be amply rewarded for their pains. He made sure that food and blankets were distributed as equally as possible, and listened when men complained, as men will, of cold and hunger and the aches and pains that troubled them; the chest and ear infections, the chilblains and infected feet from the long march north, the twitching nerves in their legs that kept them from sleep.
It should not take long now, he told them.
Even so, he was surprised; he felt a small prickle of astonishment and pleasure when, two days before Christmas, a message was conveyed to him from the Duke of Somerset. If Warwick would grant certain conditions – that custody of Bamburgh Castle would be granted to Sir Ralph Percy and that the lives of his garrison would be spared – he would hand over the castle and swear allegiance to King Edward.
Warwick stood at once, pleasure warming him like a flame.
‘Well then,’ he said, ‘we must go to meet him.’
He rode through the night, and in the morning saw the great doors of Bamburgh open and the young duke emerge with a small party of men, looking gaunt and grim.
Warwick rode forward to meet him, taking in the somewhat tattered appearance of the Lancastrian flag, the worn, hunted look on the young duke’s face. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, ‘My lord, you seem less of a man than you were,’ but he suppressed it. Somerset looked hostile and would not meet his eye.
‘My lord,’ Warwick said, ‘you are welcome indeed.’
Sir Ralph Percy and Sir Harry Beaufort were sworn to be true and faithful as true liege men to our king and sovereign Edward IV. And they came to Durham and were sworn before him. And the king gave them his livery and great rewards.
Gregory’s Chronicle
The queen … fled back into Scottish territory, whence she was so sharply pursued that she was forced to take a carvel and, with a small number of supporters, sail to some coast for her safeguard. Not long after such a tempest arose that she had to abandon her carvel and take a fishing boat: by this means she was preserved and able to land at Berwick.
Great Chronicle of London
Then after that came King Henry that was and the queen and the King of Scots, [and] Sir Pierre de Brézé with 4,000 Scotsmen and laid siege to the castle of Norham, for eighteen days [in June 1463]. And then my Lord of Norham and his brother Lord Montague rescued the said castle of Norham and put both King Harry and the Scots to flight. And Queen Margaret with all her council fled away.
Gregory’s Chronicle
10
Flight
They went into a forest, to avoid being seen, where there was nothing but trees in all directions …
Georges Chastellain
The little prince had asked her a dozen times where they were going. She did not like to say she did not know. She’d given up calling out to the guards and attendants who had been with them when they entered the forest; it was as though a thick blanket muffled her words. Or as though something ancient and primitive might be listening.
It must, by now, be evening, but it was impossible to tell. The overhanging branches were so dense that no light penetrated, but they tried to look where they were putting their feet, for the ground was not what it seemed to be. It was covered by twisted roots and vines, concealing ruts and holes in the ground.
She had concentrated at first on trying to distract them both, but gradually her voice had failed, and the little prince too had fallen into silence. He clung to her closely, taking in the shapes and shadows of the forest with wide, intent eyes.
But the forest wasn’t silent. A rustle through the undergrowth here; bats flitting and swooping overhead; a withered branch creaking as they approached. There was something in the forest that seemed
alive, watching and waiting. It breathed when she did, with its stale and loamy breath; its heart beat with her own.
She did not want to stop; there was nowhere she felt was safe enough to rest. So they pressed on cautiously, without knowing whether or not they were going in circles, their breathing audible in the dense air.
She had to remind herself that she was queen of this inhuman world; she was queen and she had the prince in her keeping. The muscles in her legs trembled and her breath seemed unnaturally loud, as if the forest was breathing through her open mouth.
There was a sudden crack followed by a lesser one, then a great shape swung down suddenly, horribly, from the nearest tree and another stepped out from behind a different tree, and then another, until they were surrounded. She wanted to cry out, but her throat was paralysed. She heard the sharp cry of her son, ‘Maman!’ as he was taken, but something seized her from behind and propelled her forward, her knees bumping over the rough ground, and all the breath was knocked out of her so that she could not cry out in response. Just as suddenly, it stopped, and her head was pushed forward so that she was staring at the ground, then she was yanked upwards, into a standing position, by the hair.
She was taken and seized, robbed of all her royal jewels and robes … and when there was nothing left they seized her body and subjected her to a search and threatened her with various torments and cruelties, and then at swordpoint she was taken to the chief of robbers who would have cut off her head, but she, falling to her knees with hands conjoined and weeping, prayed that for the sake of divine and human honour he would have compassion upon her … that she was the daughter and wife of a king and in other circumstances they would have recognized her as their queen and if they sullied their hands with her blood their cruelty would be remembered by men throughout the ages, and saying these words she wept so profoundly that there was no thing in either heaven or earth that would not have taken pity upon her … At this the robbers began to quarrel and fight with one another …
