by Livi Michael
For a long moment Warwick did not speak. Then he said, ‘Yet you reject every overture made by the king of France.’
And they were back on the old track again, with all the old arguments.
The French king had been more than generous in his quest for an alliance with England. He had offered a commercial share in the Burgundian Netherlands, and even a reappraisal of England’s ancient claim to Normandy and Aquitaine. Such was his eagerness to conclude a marriage treaty between Margaret of York and his brother-in-law that he had offered to pay the dowry himself, along with a pension of 8,000 marks a year to Edward.
Edward said that he appreciated such munificence from the French king – nevertheless he felt obliged to do everything he could to preserve the independence of Burgundy and Brittany, which was where Louis’ ambitions lay as they both knew. He could not allow Louis to dominate the Channel coast.
It was dangerous, Warwick said, to reject such generous offers from France. What more could Louis do to persuade Edward into an alliance? Whatever he wanted he should name it now – Warwick was sure that King Louis would make an offer.
‘And you?’ the king said pleasantly. ‘What has he offered you?’
The directness of this almost took Warwick’s breath away, but he recovered swiftly.
‘I was sent to win King Louis’ favour,’ he said. ‘That was the task you gave me. Do not blame me now if I have done it well.’
The king laughed again and sighed. ‘Ah, Warwick,’ he said. ‘Why are we talking of blame? There is no blame,’ he said. It is just that you see things one way and I another. And I must act according to the way I see things – must I not?’
‘Even if it brings you to war?’ Warwick said, and when Edward did not reply he said, ‘I do not understand it, I confess I am quite stumped. Why would your majesty make an enemy of your most powerful neighbour?’
‘Why?’ said the king. ‘Because I would not have him grow more powerful than he is. I would not have any one power grow supreme, anywhere.’
And Warwick knew they were no longer talking about France.
The conversation was over then, the king made it clear. But it stayed with Warwick through the coming months while the king pursued his ruinous foreign policy, making treaties with several countries including Burgundy and Brittany, so that King Louis could not help but feel himself surrounded by his enemies. And against all Warwick’s advice he arranged the marriage between his sister and Charles of Charolais.
It was while Warwick was in Normandy that the blow fell. Duke Philip’s natural son Antoine, Bastard of Burgundy, arrived in England, ostensibly to compete with the queen’s brother, Anthony Woodville, in the lists, since both were renowned jousters. But actually his mission had a different purpose: to arrange the marriage of Margaret of York. He had attended the opening of parliament, and Warwick’s brother, George Neville, who was Lord Chancellor and Archbishop of York, had absented himself from it, sending his servant to say he was ill. And King Edward had turned up in person at the archbishop’s house and dismissed him from his post as Chancellor.
Warwick had returned from France with an embassy of French lords, to the news that his brother had been demoted, and the Burgundian embassy had been and gone during his absence, departing suddenly because Duke Philip had died. So now Charles of Charolais was Duke of Burgundy, and the marriage between him and the king’s sister had already been arranged.
This troubled the earl very much but he did not show his anger for he was especially astute and cunning. When the French ambassadors were all lodged, the earl went to Westminster to the king …
Jean de Waurin
But Edward had refused to acknowledge him. He’d simply gazed around the room as if Warwick wasn’t there.
At first the earl could not believe this was happening, before all the other lords in the room.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘the French ambassadors want to see you. And it ill becomes one king to keep another waiting.’
Nothing.
The silence in the room was palpable. No one would meet his eye. After several moments he turned abruptly and walked out.
He could feel the outrage burning in his gut. His anger, usually of the slow and festering kind, boiled up inside him so that he could hardly see.
The next day he returned to Westminster with all the French lords.
When the king learned of their arrival he sent from his chamber his brother Clarence, accompanied by Lord Hastings and his brother-in-law [Anthony] Woodville, who came to them on the stage where they landed from the barge [and] told them that the king would appoint men to communicate with them touching their proposals for he could not do it himself because of other matters that had come to him. As they returned in their barges the Earl of Warwick was so angry that he could not refrain from saying to the Admiral of France, ‘Have you not seen the traitors who surround the king?’
Jean de Waurin
He said it loudly, to make sure he was heard, and the admiral in turn said something about being avenged on them. And Warwick said, still more loudly as the barge pulled away, ‘Know that these are the men for whom my brother has been deprived of the office of Chancellor, and of the seal.’
He glanced back to make sure they were listening, and saw Anthony Woodville, Lord Scales, a man for whom he had conceived a rich and festering hatred, standing with Lord Hastings, who was Warwick’s brother-in-law, but the king’s man nonetheless. And beside them stood the king’s brother, Clarence, who of them all had the grace to look troubled. But as he watched, Lord Scales laid his hand on Clarence’s shoulder as if to claim him and they turned away.
And Warwick turned away also. But all the way back he was deaf to the complaints of the ambassadors, and the rough music of the river, and to everything except for the rage clamouring in his head and heart.
After this embassy had left, the king and queen went to Windsor, where they stayed fully six weeks, chiefly because the king did not wish to communicate with the French … While the king was at Windsor … there came to London the Duke of Clarence to talk with the Earl of Warwick on the matter of the embassy … the Duke of Clarence said that it was not his fault and the earl said he knew that very well. Then they spoke of the circle round the king saying that he had hardly any of the blood royal at court and that [the queen’s] family dominated everything … and the duke asked the earl how they could remedy this. Then the Earl of Warwick replied that if the duke would trust him, he would make him king of England …
Jean de Waurin
Clarence’s face had flushed, then turned pale, then flushed again. His eyes seemed to grow darker and more glittering. He lifted his chin. ‘If you think the country will support me, I will be king,’ he said.
In that moment Warwick had a vivid memory of the day, more than six years ago, when he had ridden from London to Oxford to tell the young Edward that all the citizens wanted him to be their king.
‘Well then, I will be their king,’ he’d said.
Looking now at his younger brother, Warwick was struck by both the similarity and the difference between them. Clarence was not quite eighteen, as his brother had been not quite nineteen, when he took the throne. They were a similar height, and handsome in a similar way. But Clarence was different from his brother: less substantial, perhaps, or less shrewd, but that could not be helped. In fact, he, Warwick, was counting on it. It was not Warwick’s fault if this young man could not see the consequences of the game he was playing. Or even whose game it was.
After that encounter he had waited almost six weeks in London, trying to placate the French lords, travelling to Windsor and Canterbury to attempt to gain an interview with the king. At the end of that time the embassy had left, more than a little disconsolate at their treatment, and taking Warwick’s reputation with them. For who in France would now believe that he had any influence at all with the English king?
He had retreated to his northern estates and recruited as many men as possible to his private ar
my, even though the king had forbidden the nobles of the land to recruit. Only a series of interventions from his brothers – George, who was still archbishop, and John, Lord Montague – had prevented him from declaring outright war.
Meanwhile, Lord Scales was the king’s new ambassador. Through his incompetent mediation the king had agreed to pay a dowry of no less than 200,000 crowns for his sister’s wedding. He had been forced to insist on another tax in parliament when he had so recently promised them to live off his own.
Warwick did not attend this parliament. He remained in his castle at Middleham, writing to King Louis to express his extreme regret over the outcome of the French visit, but assuring him that the current agreement was not compromised. He maintained contact as far as he could with those who were close to Edward, so that he could let Louis know of Edward’s plans. He remained absent from the great council at Kingston upon Thames where the betrothal of Princess Margaret to Duke Charles of Burgundy was formally announced. And he refused, absolutely, to underwrite the dowry.
It seemed to him that he had been thwarted by Edward on all fronts: the marriage of his daughters and his role as ambassador to foreign nations, especially France. Even his ambition to extend his landed interests in Wales had been blocked by the king’s favourite, William Herbert, who continued to receive grants and tenure of property there, and whose son had married the queen’s sister.
William Herbert, who had once been Warwick’s own officer, was now his greatest rival. Which was why, when the spy was arrested by Herbert’s men, Warwick knew it was a trap.
A man had been captured in Wales, taking letters from Queen Margaret to Harlech Castle. Lord Herbert had sent him to the king and, when he was questioned, he’d accused many men of treason, including the Earl of Warwick, who, he said, was in league with the queen.
The king summoned him to London, but Warwick penned a swift reply. He would not go to be accused like any common traitor while so many of his enemies were at court. He did not know how or why the king could take this matter seriously, he wrote. It was clearly an attempt to destroy him.
Edward’s response came equally swiftly. A safe-conduct to court.
The Earl of Warwick looked at it and laughed. It was not clear to him why he was laughing, the situation was serious enough. He looked out of the window, at the faint sunshine interspersed with rain.
It was the end, he thought. The end of everything.
Or it was a beginning.
As he looked out over the plains of his estate the Earl of Warwick felt as though he was looking down on the entire course of his life, from a vast perspective like that of a hawk.
He could see how, for almost all of it, he had moved along predetermined tracks, laid out for him by the great accidents of history; the time, the place and the estate into which he had been born. For most of his life he’d served the conflicting demands of king and country and family. When one king had proved ruinous to the nation he’d helped to undo that king and replace him with another. No one doubted that this new king was indebted to the earl for his crown. Everyone knew he was the Kingmaker.
But now that king had turned against him he was no longer bound by the bonds of obligation, fealty or honour. He was, perhaps for the first time in his life, free.
It had a powerful appeal, this new sense of freedom. But he would have to manage it carefully. He left the window and returned to his table.
He wrote to the king, thanking him for the safe-conduct but reiterating that he could not possibly come to court since it was not the journey he was worried about but his enemies there. As a concession to the charges made against him he added that he had not at any time had any dealings with the ‘foreign woman, Margaret of Anjou’. If his majesty would reflect on the history of his dealings with that unfortunate émigrée he would see how preposterous the allegation was.
He sealed the letter and sent it back by the same courier who had brought him the safe-conduct. Then the next day he moved to Sheriff Hutton.
He rode through the streets accompanied by 600 liveried retainers. Crowds ran to meet him, crying, ‘Warwick! Warwick!’ Some flung flowers at his feet, others scrambled for the coins his steward scattered among them. All were hoping for further demonstrations of largesse. Before he entered the gates of his castle he turned to the crowds then half rose in the saddle and bowed to the people as if bowing to his king. So it was to the sound of wild cheering that he rode into the entrance of Sheriff Hutton.
And a few days later the king’s embassy arrived. Several of the king’s lawyers and guards had brought the accuser himself. Who broke down under Warwick’s caustic interrogation and confessed that the earl had in no way been involved or implicated in Lancastrian plans. The king’s lawyers took him back to London together with this confession. Temporarily the matter was resolved.
Yet it was not easily forgotten. Warwick knew the king had made a concession in sending his accuser to him rather than having the earl arrested and brought to court. He knew this meant that the king did not want open warfare yet.
And why? Because he was the Kingmaker. He commanded almost the same loyalty and wealth as the king himself. So the king, wisely, had backed down. If Warwick wanted, he could probably still return to his old allegiance.
Yet also there was the king of France, who had offered Warwick his own duchy. In his recent letter Louis had urged the earl to direct his efforts towards undermining the English king.
That he could certainly do.
But it would be a step too far for him to work towards restoring the old regime that he had helped to destroy. It would be admitting, in effect, that he had been wrong. And if they lost, he would lose everything.
Then there was Clarence, of course.
Warwick’s brother, the archbishop, was already negotiating with Rome to obtain a dispensation for the marriage of Warwick’s daughter to the king’s brother. He was well placed to acquire this dispensation because he was tipped to become cardinal. And once they received it, Clarence and Isabel could be married without the king’s consent.
There it was, the third alternative. He could see it clearly from his new, empyrean perspective. The Kingmaker would turn his attention to Clarence.
The Earl of Warwick’s insatiable mind could not be content, and yet … there was none in England of half the possessions that he had … He was Great Chamberlain of England, chief admiral and captain of Calais and Lieutenant of Ireland and yet he desired more. He counselled and enticed the Duke of Clarence to marry his eldest daughter Isabel without the advice of King Edward. Wherefore the king took a great displeasure with them both and … after that day there was never perfect love between them.
Hearne’s Fragment
26
The King’s Displeasure
Clarence had been summoned to the king, then kept waiting. Then he had been allowed into the room and everyone else had been sent out, which the duke did not think was a good thing.
He had knelt, of course, and was still kneeling. And still the king had not said one word.
After what seemed a long time Clarence looked up and laughed, a little artificially, but the king did not smile. His face seemed heavier somehow, and impassive as stone. Clarence laughed again. He would show no fear.
Then, breaking all the protocol of court, he spoke first.
‘Is there a reason, brother, why you are keeping me here?’
Slowly the king lifted a goblet of wine. He had not offered Clarence any wine.
‘Have I – offended you in some way?’
The king drank and returned the goblet to the table. His face was flushed. He did not say that he had not given Clarence permission to speak or to address him so familiarly. He said, ‘I have heard many rumours about you.’
He spoke so quietly that Clarence could hardly make out the words, but he said, ‘I’m surprised your majesty has time to listen to rumours.’
‘Concerning you,’ the king said, ‘and the Earl of Warwick.’
&nbs
p; ‘You should not listen to rumours,’ Clarence said.
‘That’s why I’ve brought you here, so that you can speak.’
Clarence looked at the king’s hands, which were studded with rings. They lay passively on the table, next to the rich gold of the goblet. Clarence himself was a little stained by his journey with mud and dust. He felt unclean.
‘What rumours have you heard?’
‘I have heard that the two of you have had many conferences together.’
‘Conferences?’ Clarence said, looking now at the carved lions behind the king’s head. He had the odd sensation that he was talking to them. ‘He is our cousin. May we not speak?’
‘That depends on what you are speaking about.’
Clarence shifted awkwardly on his knees. ‘May I not rise?’ he said, but the king said nothing at all.
Ever since he was a child, Clarence had suffered from a nervous affliction; a kind of quivering that began in the pit of his stomach and travelled along the lines of his nerves to his fingertips. And because he hated these nervous qualms they were always accompanied by anger. He lifted his chin. ‘Why do you question him? Why do you question me?’
The king sat back. His face had barely changed yet there was a look of satisfaction on it as if he had been waiting for this moment. The duke felt a hot spike of anger in his gut.
‘For God’s sake,’ he said, ‘let me rise.’
Almost imperceptibly, the king nodded, and the duke got awkwardly to his feet.
‘Many things are said about our cousin,’ he said, ‘and yet he seeks only to protect our family – and you – from those who would conspire against you – for their own ends.’
‘And who would they be?’
‘Do you not know?’
‘I am asking you.’
Clarence’s face went red then pale again. If he had to, he would name the queen’s family. But after a long pause the king said gently, ‘How does he think to remedy this … problem?’
‘Perhaps there is no remedy – while your majesty will listen to no one else.’ And he went on quickly, ‘All the people around you – have come from nothing – and have made great alliances – there is almost no one left to marry. Who am I to marry?’ he asked. ‘You have made it quite plain that you do not want me to marry Charolais’ daughter – though you propose to send our sister there with all the pomp and ceremony of a queen. But I am left here, waiting, at your majesty’s pleasure.’
